


For the Love of a Dog (Season 2)

by originella



Series: For the Love of a Dog [2]
Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 23:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originella/pseuds/originella
Summary: As all marriages go, ones between dogs and humans are not exactly all over the map on a global scale. For Vivienne and Brian, love was a long time coming, and now that they've got it, neither wants to let go. But with six kids and Brian becoming a workaholic, Vivienne begins to feel neglected. When Vivienne is assaulted, she decides to take matters into her own hands, literally.





	1. Hurt

I had just made sure that Jackie and Daphne have gotten off to school; they will begin their driving lessons in a few months and then they will get their learner’s permit, if all goes according to plan. I peer into the back seat; my other pair of twins have just turned six and are leaning forward ever so slightly and kicking the back of my seat—they are desperate to get to school. _First grade is suddenly very important to them_, I think to myself as I navigate my way out of the parking lot of James Woods High, waving goodbye to Jackie and Daphne, now sophomores.

“_Mom_!” Sabrina whines. “Watch the road!”

“Yeah! Daddy won’t like it if you wreck the car!” Heath chimes in.

I roll my eyes. “Kids, come on. Mommy will not wreck the car. Mommy has to work, as you know, because Mommy works where you go to school.”

Sabrina tosses her curly dark hair. “Why wouldn’t you let me take that test over the summer?” she continues to whine. “I just think that first grade will be too easy. I looked online at various practice worksheets and I knew everything...”

I sigh. “Sweetheart, your father and I discussed it at length and we feel you should give the classroom setting a chance. If after Thanksgiving break you still think it’s too easy, we’ll re-open the discussion, this time with Principal Jacobsen. Okay?”

Sabrina slumps back against her seat with a huff. “Fine,” she mutters.

“Mommy, why don’t I wanna take the test?” Heath questions.

“Because you’re too stupid,” Sabrina fires back.

“Hey!” Heath cries, hurt.

“Sabrina Amber Griffin, you apologize to your brother right now,” I say, putting an edge onto my voice as we turn onto Main Street so as she knows I’m not kidding. “Come on. That’s not funny or cute and you know it.”

Sabrina lowers her eyes, fuming at me chastising her. “Sorry,” she mutters to Heath, and clearly I’m not going to get any better.

I lean forward then and switch on the car radio, hoping for some kind of distraction. The knobs and buttons in this car are impressive; I’d received it as a birthday present over the summer from Brian after word that his publisher wanted a sequel for our successful memoir, _For the Love of a Dog_. With our first collaboration a number-one _New York Times_ bestseller, things were clearly looking up for all of us. As I managed to find the local station, I noticed that Sabrina and Heath were deliberately not looking at each other.

“Good morning, and welcome to WQHG-FM, 97.1,” said the radio announcer, a peppy-sounding man who was usually the announcer for the program at this time of morning on a weekday. “You’ve got Weenie...”

“...and the Butt!” cries his friend.

Weenie takes over then. “We’d just like to take this opportunity to say...”

“...it’s time for a new school year!” Butt cries, and the sound of a stereotypical school bell ringing is heard over the speakers.

“We’ve decided to kick things off on this news day by doing a crossover of sorts,” Weenie puts in, sounding a bit excited.

“Here in the studio, we’ve got the one, the only, Tom Tucker!” Butt cries, and then the theme of Channel Five News blares on the speakers.

“Hey! Great to be here,” Tom Tucker says.

“What are you plugging?” Weenie asks.

“Yeah! We’re really excited!” Butt hollers, playing a clip of Bobby Hill of _King of the Hill_ squealing excitedly.

“Well, I’m here to plug an interview with Quahog’s own Brian Griffin,” Tom Tucker says, and I immediately shush the kids. “It seems him and his wife, local Martin Mull Elementary School teacher, Vivienne Griffin, have decided to pen a second memoir together. Their first work together, _For the Love of a Dog_, seemed more fantasy than reality, which is just what the book doctors ordered. It became a _New York Times_ bestseller within a record three days and Brian himself said that, ‘Although my greatest achievements in life are my marriage and my six children, I would like to go out on a limb and say that my greatest _literary_ achievement would definitely have to be this book’.”

“That’s what _he_ said!” Butt says, playing a stereotypical 1980’s laugh track.

“Any info on potential book titles or its release date?” Weenie asks.

“That’s what _she_ said!” Butt cries out, playing the laugh track again.

“Rumor has it that the book will take six months to a year to write, because that’s how long the original book took to write,” Tom Tucker replies. “And rumor has it the sequel will be called _Dog Days: The Brian and Vivienne Griffin Story_.”

“Son of a bitch!” I say out loud, prompting Sabrina and Heath to look up at me in shock. “I, um... I mean, Mommy is just a little annoyed right now,” I say, quickly switching off the radio, drowning out Tom Tucker’s voice. “Nothing to worry about.”

About two minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of Martin Mull Elementary, and I drive to the staff section and park in my usual spot, about mid-way through the four rows reserved for staff members. Sabrina and Heath get out of their booster seats easily and I hand them their lunch boxes as I sling my bag over my shoulder, as they do to their backpacks. I kiss them both goodbye as we walk through the main doors; it is an hour before school time, so they will have to go to the daycare for the morning. Usually Brian will take them in, but he is having some time with Dylan while he’s in town filming his latest _Parent Boppers_ film. I wave off Sabrina and Health and make my way up the first flight of stairs; the daycare and adjoining preschool is on the first floor, along with the cafeteria, theater, auditorium, library, music hall, and the gym. Second floor is grades one through three and the staff lounge, and the third floor is grades four through five and the computer lab.

I make my way up the second flight of stairs, waving to Mr. Clapward, a second grade teacher who is making some photo copies of their big geography project; I also see Miss Monroe, who is a fifth grade teacher, talking to Mrs. Abrams, a fellow fourth grade teacher, and say hello to the pair of them as I continue down the hall. I then approach my classroom, the words _Mrs. Vivienne Griffin, Fourth Grade, Room 205_ upon the name plate and unlock the door. I flick on the lights and shut the door behind me, making my way across the room and settling my own lunch in my mini fridge behind the desk. I take out the graded math quiz I gave two days before and leave the pile at one side of my desk, mentally reminding myself to pass it out before lunch.

I log in to my desktop and get onto my staff email, scanning the various subject lines and whatnot as I nibble at my bottom lip, distracted by what Tom Tucker said in the radio interview, growing more and more annoyed. Many of the emails are expressing concerns with potential scheduling conflicts in regards to parent-teacher conferences in the middle of November. I’ve been trying to work Principal Jacobsen when it comes to Sabrina and Heath and trying to get them into my class in three years—although if Sabrina had her way it would be never, because she was convinced that she would qualify for placement at Buddy Cianci Junior High School—so as I wouldn’t have to rework my schedule. Fed up with Brian, I give up on my emails and whip out my cell phone, holding down button number ‘one’ and waiting for it to ring.

“Hey, babe,” Brian says, his voice casual and effortless. “Stewie’s taking a mental health day so me and Dylan are taking him to brunch. Just got out of the shower,” he says, and I can hear the fan humming around him. “What’s up? Ride to school go okay?”

“Fine. Jackie and Daphne are excited about starting sophomore year.”

“Did you give them your sage words of wisdom?” Brian asks, opening the door of our en suite bathroom and walking into our bedroom.

I shrug. “They’re fifteen. They have access to phones and laptops and the internet and their flat screens. What’s to know?”

“Well...how are the kids?” Brian asks, speaking of Sabrina and Heath.

“Sabrina was testy, as usual,” I reply, leaning back in my swivel chair. “She’s convinced that she can go to Buddy Cianci this year...”

“She’s six,” Brian chuckles.

“Exactly! But ever since Daphne said she wanted to go to med school, Sabrina’s been all over that. You know what she told me last night as I was tucking her in?”

“What’s that?”

“She says she wants to be a brain surgeon with her own practice,” I say, shaking my head at the notion. “That’s what I was doing on my Tablet last night when I couldn’t sleep. I was Googling the salary...”

“How good is it?” he asks.

“Three-hundred ninety-five thousand is the starting salary, and then once she’s settled in, she could be making upwards of five-hundred-eighty-nine thousand five-hundred, but that’s today’s standards. Who knows? If she goes to school on schedule, she won’t be doing it for another ten to fifteen years...”

“Shit,” Brian replies. “I should’ve gone to medical school...”

“You should’ve consulted me before you agreed to do an interview with Tom Tucker on the news,” I reply, my tone clipped.

He hesitates. “How did you know about that...?”

“Brian, you know when the kids fight that I turn on the radio,” I grumble. “I turned it onto 97.1 because, well, they enjoy the sound effects...”

“You know Stewie and I had a show on there for a while?” he offers.

I groan into the phone. “Yes. I also know that it was called The Lunch Hour but you ended up selling out and renaming it Dingo and the Baby. For god’s sake, Brian, you got a girl named Sindy to catch hot dogs in her mouth,” I grumble, leaning forward and catching my forehead into the palm of my hand. “Brian, you know full well that these memoirs are a collaboration piece. Why in the hell would you agree to do an interview with Tom Tucker and have a title without consulting me?”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, Viv, really. But we should really discuss this face to face.”

I bite my lip, reluctant to let him go, but knowing that I shouldn’t take time away from Dylan or Stewie. “All right. Lois invited us over tonight for dinner. Do you think we can make that work?”

“All of us?” Brian asks.

“Well, no. The girls’ll be studying at their friend Jeannie’s house until nine, and they’re having dinner over there. I figure we’ll swing by and pick them up after dinner, but Sabrina and Heath can come.”

“Okay...”

“And remember, we have a Skype session with Felix later on today. Around four-thirty, and it’ll be sad that Jackie and Daphne can’t be there, but let’s make the most of it.”

“Can do.”

“All right.” I sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Viv.”

I smile. “Thanks. Send Dylan my love and is he coming tonight?”

“I’ll see if he’s available.”

“Good. Send Stewie my love, too. I’ll see you before four.”

“All right. Love you, babe.”

“I love you, too. Bye,” I say, hanging up.

. . .

The Skype session with Felix went well, although we were only able to talk for about twenty minutes because he had a gig at some music festival that evening. We all gave our love before ending the conversation, and I told him to text Jackie and Daphne later as well. Brian was ever-helpful in readying Heath while I got Sabrina ready, although she wanted to wear her black trousers and white blouse, and I let her, because I didn’t want another fight. I set the pair of them up in the living room with an episode of _SpongeBob SquarePants_ while Brian and I headed upstairs to get ready. Dylan, who had no plans that evening, would be driving himself to the Griffin house later that evening, which I knew would excite Stewie, for he had always had a soft spot for Brian’s first child.

I jumped in the shower—solo—because I did not wish to reward Brian’s behavior earlier that day, as I was still irritated with him. I stepped out a few moments later and blow-dried my hair, making sure to walk through the bedroom only wrapped in my towel, deliberately distracting him from readying himself. Not making eye contact, I put on his favorite lingerie, just to torment him further, and slipped into a black knee-length skirt, matching heels, and my white frilly blouse. I peered at him over my shoulder as I walked back to the bathroom, running a brush through my now-dry hair and appreciating the curls at its tips. I clipped it ever so slightly so as the curls hung loosely, and put a pearl necklace on before adjusting my wedding ring.

“Ready?” I ask him, and Brian quickly adjusts his collar.

We fetch Sabrina and Heath from the living room and make our way out to Brian’s car; I thought that while he was just attempting to get back on my good side, at least Brian had put their booster seats in Brian’s new van. We strapped the pair of them in before getting into the front seat and I watched as Brian plugged in 31 Spooner Street from 1536 Westside Drive in an effort to get there more efficiently. The quickest way was twelve minutes depending on traffic, which we knew would be a good possibility given the hour. We however made it to the Griffin house in just under fifteen minutes, and I was pleased that Dylan pulled up soon thereafter.

“Vivienne!” he said, making his way over to the car. “How are you?” he asked, bending down and kissing my cheek. “How’s the first day back?”

I roll my eyes, letting out a chuckle. “Exhausting.”

He laughs, reaching behind me to open the car door. “Sabrina! Hey, you!”

“Dylan!” Sabrina cries, launching herself into his arms. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, Savvy Sabby,” Dylan replies.

“Dylan?!” Heath cries, running around the back of the car.

“Heath, my man!” Dylan says, giving his half-brother a high-five. “Great to see you, buddy! I haven’t seen you since Disney World!”

The front door of the house opens and Peter and Lois step out. Peter goes, “Hey!” and seems pleased to have us there, our little incident when he and Lois were having an open marriage forgotten. Stewie putters into the general vicinity, immediately looking annoyed that Dylan is giving all of his attention to Sabrina and Heath. He taps his foot impatiently, but I immediately swoop in to calm things.

“Stewie!” I cry, grabbing the almost-six-year-old and taking him into my arms.

He lets out that wonderful laughter of his as I proceed kissing him over and over again, as Lois looks on indulgently. “Vivienne!” he sputters, continuing to giggle.

“My goodness, Stewie, Vivienne certainly put you in a better mood, didn’t she?” Lois asks, coming up and hugging me briefly before catching sight of Dylan and the twins. “Oh, it’s my two nephews and my niece!” she cries, running into the front yard. “Hello, Heath. It’s so nice to see you. We haven’t seen you since Joe’s pool party last summer. Is that a new vest and shirt set? Don’t you look handsome.”

Heath blushes at the attention, clasping his little hands and shuffling a bit uncertainly from foot to foot. “Thank you, Aunt Lois,” he replies.

Lois chuckles, bending down and scooping Heath up. “I think you’re going to like dinner,” she says endearingly as she moves to take him inside, Brian following, and Dylan, still carrying Sabrina, going after them.

“Is meat involved?” asks Heath.

Lois giggles. “Well, yes. It’s baked macaroni and cheese with breaded baked chicken breasts,” she replies easily. “We’re going to start with a Caesar salad and end with my special vanilla cake with buttercream frosting.”

Heath claps his hands; it’s both of our favorite meal made by Lois. “Yummy!” he cries as he’s carried inside and placed on the couch.

“Now, Stewie, why don’t you sit with your cousins?” Lois says invitingly. “Let’s turn on _SpongeBob_,” she says, picking up the remove and motioning for Dylan to put Sabrina down next to Heath. “You guys can watch it with Rupert while Mommy, Daddy, Aunt Vivienne, Uncle Brian, and Cousin Dylan help with dinner,” she says, motioning for us to follow her into the kitchen. “Who wants a glass of wine?” Lois asks.

“I’ll have half a glass of red, thanks, Lois,” I reply, flashing her a smile.

“Tough first day back?” she asks, fetching two wine glasses from the cabinet and grabbing the bottle by the drying rack. “I could never be a teacher full-time. You’re so much more patient with kids than I am, Viv,” she says, handing me a glass poured halfway. “I did teach sex-ed briefly at the high school but they fired me because I talked about the safe use of condoms during sex.”

“You’re kidding!” I cry, sipping at my wine. “That’s terrible!”

Lois nods, pouring herself a generous amount and leaning back against the counter. “And to make matters worse, this one,” she nods at Peter, “enacted a sex scene between Rainbow Brite and Shakespeare.”

I fight hard not to laugh and fail miserably. “While that may have not been appropriate high school classroom behavior, Lois, it is very funny.”

Lois laughs. “Yeah, you’re right, it was pretty funny, later.” She sighs. “Oh, well. What are you going to do?”

I sneak a peek at Brian and Peter, each holding a bottle of beer, who are asking Dylan questions about his movies, which are Peter’s new favorite things in the world. Dylan himself is holding a can of coke and is patiently answering their questions. He was such a kind boy, yet I’d been a bit reluctant to meet his mother. Rumor had it that she’d had similar surgery to what I’d gotten, and I was worried that Brian would eventually leave me for her to make a family with Dylan.

“Vivienne, the chicken and mac should be ready anytime now,” I hear Lois saying from where she is peering into the oven. “That just leaves the salad to be dressed and the cake to be frosted. Would you mind setting the dining room table for me, please? We only have about ten more minutes, I think.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem, Lois.”

I place my wine glass onto the counter and gently scratch Brian’s ear as I walk by, and I immediately hear him excusing himself from Peter and Dylan’s conversation. As I remove a tablecloth from the storage cabinet, I silently spread it all around the table. There are plates waiting upon the cabinet, along with napkins, knives, and salad, entrée, and dessert forks. I place each item of cutlery accordingly, and fold the napkins appropriately before finding a pair of white candles and glass sticks and positioning them in the center of the table. As I turn around to see Brian, I notice a look in his eyes.

“Brian?” I ask.

My husband chuckles darkly and steps forward. “Wanna do it in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs?” he asks.

I cross my arms. “Do you honestly think I’d sleep with you now?!” I hiss under my breath. “I reserve the right to be very upset with you...”

Brian’s expression doesn’t change. “No limits.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Well...” I hesitate, looking from the living room to the kitchen, knowing that we will have to pass two of our children in order to get upstairs. “What if Sabrina and Heath...?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Brian replies. He crosses towards the hallway and walks to Lois’s piano room, pinging a few keys upon it, which sends Stewie running.

“Yes, Brian?” he asks.

“Hey. I need a favor...”

“All right, Brian,” Stewie replies as I step into the room behind him. “What do you want me to do?” he asks, leaning back temporarily against my knees.

“Distract Sabrina and Heath so that Viv and I can go upstairs,” Brian says softly.

“What’s in it for—” Before he can complete his sentence, I’m waving a fifty-dollar bill in front of his face. “Oh. Good.” Stewie slips the bill into his pocket and nods. “Okay. I was playing with an invention in the sunroom. I’m sure I can convince them to come and see it. I think they enjoy my company...”

“They love you,” I say instantly.

Stewie chuckles. “Very well then.” He slips from the room and distracts our two youngest children with a mere sentence, and the three of them slip into the sunroom.

“Peter?” Brian asks, knowing that it’ll be Peter that it the most likely to become distracted and ask us what we’re doing.

“No problem,” I reply, crossing over to a bookshelf against the back wall. I reach upwards, counting mentally in my head until I find a book titled _Harry Potter and the Order of the Cheese Whiz _and nod to myself—Lois always hid snacks in there. Peeking inside, I saw a pack of Ho-Ho’s, one of Peter’s favorite. “Bingo.” I ask Peter to come and help me with something and, waving the package in front of his face, I throw them out into the backyard, and quickly, too. He proceeds to yelp and screech like some rabid dog as he tears them apart, and Lois and Dylan rush outside to investigate—I even think I see Joe and Bonnie leaving their house as well.

Brian quickly grabs my hand and we get upstairs without anyone noticing us at all. We head to what used to be Meg’s bedroom—now re-decorated as Chris’s has been into a female version of a guest bedroom. We make quick work of drawing the curtains and locking the door, whereupon I quickly shove Brian into the center of the bed. I see a scarf hanging out of the dresser drawer, probably left by Lois’s mother, Babs, when she and Carter last stayed in the house. I tie Brian’s hands together, and proceed in unzipping my skirt and slipping my blouse over my head. I take a lot of delight in Brian squirming in the center of the bed, my mouth slightly rising at the corners as I kneel in front of him.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I whisper, making no moves to take off my lingerie. “We said that the memoir was a joint-effort. Now, why would you go behind my back like that?” I ask, no ounce of anger in my voice.

Brian doesn’t look at me. “I’m sorry...”

I giggle a bit, the sound resonating in my throat. Leaning down, I make quick work of removing the scarf which binds his paws together with my teeth. “Perhaps punishment of _not_ getting what you want will be enough,” I reply, darting off the bed and quickly putting my clothes back on.

Brian growls ever so slightly, but nevertheless slips his collar back on and we leave the bedroom together just as a pair of familiar footsteps comes up the stairs.

“Ah. I thought something of that nature would happen,” Stewie says, a glint in his eye as he chuckles ever so slightly.

“Stewie,” Brian says warningly.

“Where the hell are Sabrina and Heath?!” I demand. “You were supposed to be watching them and you know it!”

Stewie’s glance remains passive. “I merely froze time briefly, Vivienne,” he replies patiently to me. “I thought, since we’re here...”

“Stewie...?” Brian asks.

He grins. “What? You’re not _that_ old, Brian! Or didn’t you inform your lovely wife about our agreement?”

“Brian?” I ask, turning to him.

He sighs. “He’s right, I should’ve said something...” He sighs a second time. “I’ve been giving Stewie ten-percent of our money from the book selling in exchange for giving me a serum that’ll stop my aging process...”

“Brian!” I cry, shocked.

He reaches out and takes my hand. “I don’t want you to think I’m going anywhere and I’m not. I just have to get bi-weekly shots—which I hate—in order to increase my lifespan by at least fifty years. I won’t age, Viv, until your time comes, and Stewie’s perfected a painless injection to give me when your time here ends. He’s working on an infinity serum as we speak, so that day, if we never want it to, will come. He’s also in the process of creating an ageless serum that will pinpoint which age you want to remain. So we could be young forever, if we wanted...”

I shake my head. “Oh, my god... I just...”

I bite my lip, stopping the crushing words that would inevitably fall from my lips. I reach out and grab Stewie by the hand and drag him to his bedroom, Brian quickly following. Stewie makes no protests as I quickly key in the code for his time machine, and, when it reveals itself, I press the identification code and the three of us step inside the space, now a bit more difficult due to the fact that Stewie is no longer a baby, and I’ve had two kids. I am able to reach the control panel and quickly key in some information, pressing blindly, as I am not concentrating at all, as Stewie makes a grab for his backpack and his return pad, always placed inside the machine. Then the flash of light blinds us and we are transported out of twenty-first century Quahog, Rhode Island.

. . .

“Is it over?” the words fall from my mouth in a gasping motion, and I’m covering my eyes, fearful of where I’ve sent us.

“Yeah. It’s over.” Stewie’s voice sounds calm, almost as if he is quite all right with the turn of events.

I lift my fingers from where they’ve been wrapped around my face, and feel traces of powder upon them and, as I lift my head, it feels abnormally heavy. Managing to turn it ever so slightly, I catch sight of curled white hairs upon my exposed shoulders and upper chest, and come to the direct conclusion that I am wearing a powdered wig. Looking down, I see the constricting gown around me—a shocking pink color—and feel the whalebone of the corset digging uncomfortably into my ribs.

“Dammit... Pre-French Revolution,” I mutter, shaking my head.

A woman about ten years my senior pokes her head out from behind a wall and immediately comes rushing over to me. “Oh, you’ve arrived,” she says, relief in her voice. “The new lady in waiting for Her Majesty the Queen of France. What is your name?”

I blink, wanting desperately to run. “Lady Alix Thévenet, Comtesse Briancourt,” I reply, and notice that Brian and Stewie are attempting their best not to laugh. “My husband and son are here as well...”

“Lord Henri Thévenet, Count Briancourt,” Brian introduces.

“And how might this little gentleman be?” the woman asks, her Parisian accent thick and friendly towards us.

“Lord Louis Thévenet,” Stewie replies.

“Ah, named for the king, how appropriate,” the woman says sweetly. “I’m Yolande de Polastron, Duchess of Polignac,” she says politely. “Come, my dear. The queen will be expecting you, Lady Alix. The king surely has a place for your husband, and he is in the throne room, downstairs and to the left,” she says, nodding at Brian. “And you can bring Louis with you, if you like. The queen has the Madame Royale, Princesse Marie-Thérèse, with her at this time of day. She’s about your son’s age, so perhaps they will have much to talk about.”

“Of course,” I reply, and allow the duchess to walk ahead of me, and I take ahold of Stewie’s little hand as we wave Brian off and quickly follow our escort, who I know to be the favorite of Marie Antoinette. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how on earth does every possibility we get to speak English despite the fact that...?”

Stewie chuckles. “After our first adventure in ancient China, I found it too difficult to approximate such things, so I added a new program to the machine so as we’ll be able to understand everything.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, quickly flashing a smile to the duchess as we do our best to keep up with her in the expansive corridor. We travel down it for another minute until we walk to the left and down a second corridor before making right a quarter of the way down and then taking the third door on the left. It was two French doors—how quaint—which immediately opened due to the guards allowing us inside.

The duchess approached the woman I assumed to be the queen, who was a little older than I was, and made a small curtsy to her—probably due to their closeness in station, as well as being her closest friend. “Your Majesty, I am come with Lady Alix, Comtesse Briancourt and her little son, Lord Louis,” she says eloquently. “Lady Alix is the new lady in waiting, and I thought perhaps Lord Louis could play with the Madame Royale...”

The queen’s blue eyes light up at the thought. “How lovely! Marie-Thérèse, it would be lovely to play with a boy your own age.”

“Boy? Since when were the French keen on labels?” Stewie demands from under his breath as the queen and the princess step towards us.

I make an elaborate curtsy to the queen, and Stewie begrudgingly bow to her. I remember to keep my mouth shut, for she is a queen and must speak first.

“Lady Alix, it is wonderful for you to join the court, especially mine. Would Lord Louis like to have tea with Marie-Thérèse by the window?” she asks, nodding in the direction of her window embrasure, with a circular table in its space, with a beautiful china tea set placed just so upon it.

“I am sure he would love to,” I reply, bending down to kiss his cheek, but, in reality, to whisper in his ear, “Think of it as the role of a lifetime,” I whisper. “Think of it as you being up for Best Actor in a Leading Role for a period drama—think of it. If you were nominated, if you won, you’d beat Dylan in the category as youngest actor ever winning, or nominated, because the youngest nomination went to a nine-year-old named Jackie Cooper. You aren’t even six yet...”

“Just watch my prowess,” he whispers back, kissing my cheek dutifully and crossing to the adorable Marie-Thérèse, who looked like a combination of a miniature version of her mother and Kelly, who I was still confused as to if she was truly Barbie’s younger sister or, in fact, her daughter with Ken. Though rank and etiquette strictly forbade it, Stewie went down on bended knee in front of the princesse and kissed her hand. While the princesse looked shocked, she did not pull away as Stewie got to his feet.

“Your son is quite bold,” the queen says as Stewie takes Marie-Thérèse by the hand and leads her to the tea set.

“Yes, isn’t he?” I reply.

. . .

Later that evening, after we’d been shown to our lavish rooms, it was revealed that there was to be a grand ball. I wasn’t entirely sure on the reason behind the ball, but from what I’d read about Marie Antoinette, was that she loved a good party, and seemed to throw one several times a month. A maid was summoned and a gown was brought for me to wear and, to my surprise, a mask along with it. After I was laced into the equally-constricting gown and the slippers and lavish lace stockings were put on, the mask was tied into place and the duchess arrived to walk with me to the queen’s rooms.

“Where is your manor?” she asked me sweetly.

“The South of France,” I replied, hoping that would be the final question.

“Lovely,” she replies. “What do you call your manor?”

_Fuck_, I thought to myself. “Château Pierre,” I reply, using my rudimentary French to figure out that, literally translated, it meant “Castle Rock”.

“Sounds lovely,” the duchess gushed, and I began to doubt her intelligence.

We met the queen who gleefully gave us diamond necklaces to put around our necks and insisted that the both of us change our masks so as we all wore identical ones. She then gave the pair of us identical crowns to the one she wore, because, from what I deduced from her whispered conversation with the duchess, she desperately needed to have another child. It had been two years since the birth of her first son, also called Louis—after her husband, of course—and she feared being supplanted, I supposed. She claimed that she desperately needed to conceive, and perhaps the mystery of not one, but two different women dressed like her would just do the trick.

We made our way down to the ball, just when the evening was in full swing. I saw Brian mingling with the king, and things seemed to be looking up. I nearly died of laughter when Stewie walked in, in a new disguise, who informed me that he was to be called Edouard de Guignes, and that he was my elder brother who suffered from some rare kind of dwarfism that caused him to walk at a slower pace, explaining his late arrival. He mingled with ladies of the court expertly, and seemed to get on well with King Louis as well.

As the evening wore on, wine was consumed twofold, and it felt invigorating that I did not have children to care for at the moment. The queen and the duchess became, the more and more we drank, like friends that had the I.Q. of a college professor, or, at least, Rick Sanchez, so the party aspect of it all was definitely involved. Finally, I knew I’d reached my limit, and when I saw Stewie running across the ballroom towards me, fear in his eyes, I knew, deep down, that something was wrong. Initially, I thought that Brian had gotten so drunk that he’d insulted the king. Second, I believed that he could’ve accidentally drunk poisoned wine meant for the king. And third, I thought he’d been seduced by a bounty of courtesans meant for other gentleman of the court.

As it turned out, it was the last option, or, rather, fear.

“He’s gone mad, I tell you,” Stewie told me, after finding the stables and throwing a bucket of cold water onto my face to sober me up. “Three women, Vivienne—_three women_—he took with him to the rooms...”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I reply, trying my best not to slip and fall in my sopping wet shoes. “That bastard... It’s on.”

“He claimed that there was a misunderstanding earlier, as the maidens were convinced he was married to you, which he is, of course,” Stewie goes on as we find a set of servants’ stairs and head up them. “He claimed that he is actually your brother-in-law, and that he is the guardian of the title of Count Briancourt until I—or, rather, Lord Louis—is old enough to take the title. He is masquerading as your brother-in-law, Vivienne...”

We reach the proper corridor in the palace, and I throw open the door, and the notion of seeing Brian in bed with three women didn’t blind me as I thought. “Out,” I growl at them all, and they all flee from the room.

“Vivienne, I...” Brian tries.

“Save it,” I try. “Beam us back, _now_, Stewie.”

Stewie knows not to question me, and he beams us back, and I keep my glare firmly upon Brian the whole time. “Oh, crap,” Stewie says, but I don’t listen to his words as I take ahold of Brian’s collar and haul him out of his bedroom.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you fucking asshole?!” I scream at him. “Fucking other women, for Christ’s sake?! I absolutely cannot believe you!” I let go of his collar and charge downstairs, needing to put as much space between him and me as possible.

“Mom?” Sabrina asks.

“Mom?” Heath asks.

_Fuck_, I think for the second time that day. _Stewie had accidentally unfrozen time, and I suppose it had jumped ahead for convenience sake_...

“Vivienne, please,” Brian begs as I walk past our children and through the kitchen. Angry, I ignore Lois and head out into the backyard, choking back sobs, wanting desperately to be completely alone. “Vivienne,” Brian tries again.

_That bastard followed you_, I think to myself. I turn on him then, and he is on his knees in front of me, hands clasped before him. “What could you possibly want?”

“Please, Vivienne, baby, don’t do this...”

“Don’t do what? This?” I ask, dropping my wedding ring in front of him. “You son of a bitch, I want you to stop. Stop playing the victim. Leave me alone.”

“Vivienne, you... You don’t mean that,” he says, crawling towards me.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” I cry out, walking backwards, away from him.

“Vivienne...” He whispers.

“No.” I turn my back on him; I can’t look at him. All I can see is the images of him and those three concubines in the bed with him. Hot tears run down my face... That fuckhead. How dare he do this to me?!

“Vivienne...”

It is too much; the flashbacks won’t stop. He’s touching me; I must resist the urge to take him in my arms and let all be forgiven. Hot tears blind me again, and, suddenly, I find I cannot stop myself. I turn on him then, and raise my hand, like I will draw him to me, but it suddenly develops into a fist. I am punching him furiously, and I cannot stop. His pleas for me to stop and for help fall on deaf ears as doors open from all around me, and gasps collect into somewhere, far back in my subconscious.

Brian’s blood escapes from the wounds I’ve created and seep under my fingernails, and the bastard is still holding on, begging me to stop. I can’t take it; I find I want him to suffer. I remember him screwing the women in the bed, his fur all ruffled, and looking mighty satisfied with himself. Then, I remember Colin and what he too did to me. And I find myself continuing to beat him.

“Vivienne Griffin, hands up!”

The sharp voice of Joe Swanson brings me out of my reverie, and I suddenly get a good look at my hands. Slowly, I rise from my kneeling position and look around at Peter, Lois, Dylan, Joe, Bonnie, Susie, Cleveland, Donna, Rallo... But the most horrifying of all are the expressions of Stewie, Sabrina, and Heath. Sighing, I feel the anger leave me and is quickly replaced with regret as I put my hands up, surrendering. Joe comes up behind me then and seizes me, hauling me off into his squad car, and I feel the bite of the handcuffs cutting into me, and I attempt to get comfortable in the back seat.

“You’re under arrest for the assault of your husband, Brian Griffin,” Joe says, pulling away from Spooner Street. “You have the right to remain silent, if you do not choose to exercise that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you...”

His words drown out as we make it to the Quahog Police Station, some place I thought I’d never have to see the dark underbelly of. I am made to empty my pockets, which I do, numbly, and then I am strip-searched, forgetting to feel humiliated due to my feeling that I am completely empty and devoid of emotion. They then take my fingerprints and force me to stand against the height wall, where a piece of paper is handed to me, my inmate number stamped upon it. Remaining stoic, I face the camera, making no effort to appear maniacally happy or utterly devastated.

I am then hauled roughly by the arm where I am taken of my street clothes and placed into a smelly orange jumpsuit. I’m sure somewhere that there’s a code of conduct that states that these are obligated by law to be laundered, but something tells me that a lifer wore these last and probably died in them. I don’t flinch as we walk down the hall of cells, the other prisoners reaching through the bars in the cell like animals, clawing at my exposed arms and cat-calling me. I don’t move when they spit on me when I don’t acknowledge their juvenile behavior, and I merely nod to the guard as a cell is unlocked. I step into it, and secretly am pleased that I have no cell mate. Holding the scratchy wool blanket that the guard gave to me, I contemplate suing for cruel and unusual punishment due to the fact that I’m allergic to wool, but I don’t much care now.

“Lights out!” the warden shouts, and I make my way over towards the bottom bunk as my cell and those around me go black. I spread the blanket over me as I lie down, the last thing I hear before nothingness is the chain in the lock of what is to be my new home.


	2. Redemption

The lights come on at four a.m. sharp and I immediately crawl out of the army-like bed and make my way over towards the cell door. Admittedly, I am dragging my feet, and the question, _What the hell were you thinking?!_ seemed to rage constantly in my mind, giving me a headache. I rolled my shoulders, preparing mentally to leave the cell and walk in a long, single-file line with the rest of the inmates. The warden came through then, walking past the cells and jingling the set of keys, but he didn’t let anyone out and, when he stopped in front of my cell, a feeling of dread happened down my spine.

He reached out then with one of the keys—long and silver, just like the rest of them. His face remained impassive, and I felt even more nervous as he proceeded to stick the key into its hole and turned it. “Griffin, you made bail,” he said, and a rush of shock came to me then as he led me out of my cell and down the hall, the other inmates screaming angrily; I guess they wanted their breakfast.

I was quickly handed over my street clothes from the night before, feeling mortified that the very person who loved this lingerie the most was probably lying, bleeding, in a hospital bed somewhere. I was given a hair tie by the kind-looking female guard who was in charge of me and quickly piled my dark hair on top of my head as I stepped out of there, putting my shoes on as I walked out into the lobby. The guard behind the desk handed me a plastic bag full of my personal items and I was then directed to the waiting room.

My jaw hit the floor as the door opened, and there, sitting with Stewie against the wall, was none other than my twin sister, Meera. I made my way over to them, and Stewie hopped off the seat as I hauled Meera outside the station and down the street. “What the hell?!” I hissed in between my teeth after we’d made it out of the police station general vicinity. “I can’t believe...” I shook my head.

Meera sighed. “Look, I know what you must be thinking,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile. She was wearing appealing, form-fitting black trousers, a white, button-down shirt, and a black matching jacket. Her heels were black leather Prada, so I knew from looking at her, right down to her black leather attaché case that not only had she gone to Yale, but that she was now a lawyer. “You must be thinking, ‘God, after the way my sister ended things with me after Paul died, why the hell is she here now?’ And you’re right. You have every right to be mad at me. I really messed up, and I’m sorry.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What changed? Things were going really great,” I say, sitting down on a bench and motion for her to join me. “I mean, things were on the verge of being perfect. I mean, we’d picked our dreams—teaching for me, lawyering for you—and then after Paul died, you got all uppity about your inheritance. You know, if you hadn’t been such a bitch about it, I probably would’ve shared mine with you...”

Meera shakes her head. “It’s good that you didn’t... I went through a really bad few months after that day...” She sighs. “Roberto and I are history. One day I went to our place—which was a total crack den—and found him in bed with some of his ladies. Oh, um, you may not know this, but Roberto was a pimp,” she says softly. “He tried to get me to work for him, too, but I refused, and he let me go to school because I’d gotten a scholarship and it wouldn’t have cost him anything. I guess he figured he could keep on fucking around with whomever he wanted and I’d just be his meal ticket as a lawyer...”

“So, you are a lawyer?”

Meera smiles. “I’m an attorney,” she replies easily. “I never slept in law school so I passed in two years instead of the three to four they usually require and took the bar exam. I’ve been an attorney for the firm Brewster & Silversmith for three years,” she says proudly. “I bring in a lot of revenue so I’ll probably be made a partner by Christmas.”

“And...you kicked Roberto to the curb?” I ask.

Meera laughs. “After my first year at Yale,” she replies. “I said goodbye to that asshole, big time. And when I met Det. Charles Kendrick,” she says, a light entering her eyes. “Charles is my fiancé, we met when he was investigating Roberto and his...associates. I helped him bring down a major crime—Roberto wasn’t even his real name! He was actually a vicious gang leader/pimp named Alejandro Salvador, who was wanted ever since he escaped from Guantanamo Bay, before it was in the process of closing, of course.”

“Wow,” Stewie says, and I almost forgot he was there.

“Wow...” I say softly. “Sounds like things have really worked out for you...”

My twin smiles. “I owe it all to Charles,” she replies. “He got me off the cocaine and the heroin...”

“He what?!” I cry out.

She gives me a sad smile. “Yeah. Roberto got me hooked. For the first year, that’s how I would never sleep.”

“Damn,” I whisper.

She grins. “But Charles got me into treatment after my first year of Yale,” she replies. “By my second year, he’d asked me out. On my anniversary of being a year sober, and six months into our relationship... I found out I was pregnant,” she says quietly.

“I...” I find I cannot say the words.

She takes my hand then. “It was twins but one turned out to be ectopic,” she says softly. “I did manage to carry the other child to term. Andromeda is two and a half,” she says a little proudly. “We call her Andi, and she goes to Quahog Preschool.”

“That’s really good to hear, Meera,” I reply. “But, tell me, are you here to represent me or something? It’s really great to see you and all, but still...”

She nods. “Of course I’m here to represent you,” she replies easily. “I was thinking about enacting Vivienne’s Law, about how women are justified to commit domestic battery for a select few reasons, the first, of course, being death of a child,” she goes on. “The second, of course, would be infidelity, and so on and so on...”

I turn and look at Stewie, who is busy taking a phone call, and turn back to my twin. “Yeah, I don’t know how that would go over...”

“Oh trust me, the judges here adore me,” she says, taking out her electronic planner and penciling in something. “We’ll have to have a hearing to discuss the matter, and then we’ll meet in front of the grand jury if all goes well...” She continues, mumbling to herself, and then proceeds to continue to do so...

“Thank you, Rick, means a lot,” Stewie says, hanging up the phone. He taps his foot impatiently for a few moments until something out of _The Hunger Games_ falls from the sky in the form of a parachuted package. He collects it and proceeds to open the chrome-like box, and soon takes out something that resembles a futuristic ray gun.

“Um, what the hell is that?” I ask.

“Something from my friend Rick Sanchez,” Stewie replies, his eyes roving over the buttons and presumably all the possibilities.

“Rick Sanchez...? As in Morty Smith’s uncle...?”

Stewie nods. “Yeah. Of course. Who did you think I was talking about...?”

“A fictitious character from a hit cartoon show?” I ask. 

Stewie laughs aloud then. “Oh, Vivienne, that’s adorable that you thought that _Rick and Morty_ was fictitious. It’s a reality show, dramatized for effect. Why do you think that it takes so long to get so good?”

“Animation takes time...?”

“Vivienne, the world is animated, in case you’ve forgotten,” Stewie replies, shaking his head at me. “No matter...” He finds the button he’s looking for, and then looks up at the pair of us, glee in his eyes. “So, I press this button, and I wipe everyone else’s memories—and events —over the past twenty-four hours. If it works, then we will have never gone back to the pre-French Revolution period, and only the three of us won’t suffer ill-effects.”

“What does he...?” Meera asks.

“Oh. Better wipe out the last few moments for your twin,” Stewie says quickly. “Just make a few adjustments and...a-ha!” He zaps Meera, a pink light coming forth from the ray gun and scanning over her before Stewie nods, satisfied. He then turns and extends the ray gun feature and zaps the whole town of Quahog, before pressing a button located under his arm and his jetpack comes out of his feet then and a glass astronaut-like dome appears over his head as he zooms upwards and into hyperspace. He returns a moment later, after a curtain of pink went over us, and nods. “The town, the world, and especially Brian have forgotten everything,” he says. “The events of the last twenty-four hours have been wiped too, so no jail time,” Stewie says firmly.

I sigh. “No marriage either,” I reply, walking dejectedly down the street.

. . .

I am made to get into Meera’s sleek Jaguar XJ that’s as shiny as her Prada shoes in order to get back to Spooner Street, where I see the van still parked in the driveway. Hopping out of the car, I walk hesitantly up the walk and open the door. I immediately catch sight of Sabrina and Heath, who had been sleeping, but who instantly rub their eyes and run to me, throwing their arms around me and screaming, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” over and over again as Meera and Stewie come up behind me. It is when Lois, Peter, Dylan, and finally Brian come downstairs and gasp aloud at the sight of me that I recall the circumstances—which never really happened now—that I last saw them.

“Meera?” Brian asks, peering around me at my twin.

She smiles, raising her hand. “Hi, everybody. I was driving home from the firm last night and saw Vivienne walking aimlessly around town. My fiancé was working the night shift again and our daughter was with our nanny so I figured why not crash in Providence at a nice hotel for the night and catch up with my sister?”

“My goodness, Meera, that’s a lovely suit you have on,” Lois says admiringly. “Wherever did you get it?”

“At Britches and Hose,” she replies effortlessly. “I have an account there where I get two new suits a month and get the third outfit free. I have to go in a couple of weeks, so why don’t you come along? You can tell me what free item you want and I’ll get it for you,” she says, flashing her perfect teeth.

“I’d love to,” Lois says, thankful at being included.

“I don’t know, Lois,” Peter says warningly. “Sometimes they have security cameras in big establishments like that. Maybe they would know that the free item was really for you and not for Meera. Security cameras are just plain bad news. Remember that time I was at that school?”

“Peter,” Lois tries.

“We are doing this cutaway,” Peter says firmly.

EXT. MARTIN MULL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

Peter: Look, Stewie, it’s that little girl you always wanna play with but are too shy to say anything about it.

Stewie: Doesn’t matter, Fat Man.

Peter: Aw, come on. Why don’t you go over to her and say ‘hi’?

Stewie: Screw you. I don’t wanna.

Peter: All right. Maybe Daddy’ll go over and say hi. (_Crosses over to the little girl_) Hi. My name’s Peter. My son is named Stewie, and he wants to play with you, but he’s too chicken to do it. Mind if I play Hop-Scotch with you?

Adelaide: Okay.

Peter: What’s your name?

Adelaide: Adelaide.

Peter: Ha-ha! That’s a stupid name! (_Pushes her down; she doesn’t get up_) That’s what you get for having a stupid name, Adelaide!

ALARMS GO OFF AROUND THE SCHOOL AND PETER LOOKS SURPRISED. A BUNCH OF ADULTS COME SWARMING AROUND HIM, SCREAMING AND PETER LOOKS VERY FRIGHTENED.

Peter: Oh, crap. (_Runs away_)

“What just happened?” I ask, looking around the Griffin’s living room.

“Vivienne... It’s just something we do around here, now and again,” Stewie says, shaking his head and placing his hand upon his forehead. “Believe me, half the time I don’t understand what the Fat Man is doing.”

I nod and am aware that I feel my phone vibrating and, upon further examination, I see the face of my eldest appearing upon it. My eyebrows knitting together, I excuse myself and head out to the sun porch as Meera continues talking about her life at her firm, being engaged to a police detective, and motherhood. I wonder if Felix is calling about advice for the song line-up of his gig, and, swiping right on the green phone icon. “Hey, sweetie. How’s everything going?”

“Mom, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry...”

“Sweetie, slow down,” I say quickly, and, picking up on my anxiety, Brian comes up behind me and takes my hand. “What’s going on?”

“Troy and Tony got arrested,” Felix replies, referring to the twins who did the band with him —Troy on bass and Tony on drums. “They...they...”

“Honey, slow down,” I say again, sitting down and motioning for Brian to sit beside me. “I’ve got your dad here. I’m putting the phone on speaker...”

“Wait...” Felix changes his phone setting and soon we are staring at his swollen face and red eyes. He is shaking.

“Sport, what happened?” Brian asks.

Felix sighs, wiping the tears out of his eyes; I can see him leaning against a brick wall of some kind, and I mentally cross my fingers that he’s not in an abandoned alley somewhere venting to his parents. “The band that we were headlining for said they could get us into this hot new club,” he admits.

“Wait... You’re not twenty-one or over!” Brian says quickly.

“Brian!” I cry.

“No, you have to be eighteen to get in, I swear,” Felix says quickly. “They I.D. you at the door and if you’re eighteen to twenty, you get a stamp on your hand so the bartenders know not to serve you alcohol.” He holds up his right hand, where there is a slightly faded red star with a circle around it. “See?” he asks; upon further examination, Brian and I are just able to make out the words “STARS & LIGHTS NIGHTCLUB”.

“Okay,” I say. “So you obviously went to the club after your gig. What happened at the club that got Troy and Tony arrested?”

He sighs, managing to stop crying, although his face remains swollen. “See, this girl started hitting on me,” he said softly. “I kept it real nice, real respectful, but she didn’t like that, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “She lost interest and turned to the twins, and she said that she liked twins a hell of a lot,” he said, shivering ever so slightly. “So they slow danced and got all in the moves—you know, grinding, y’know?”

I feel my face heat then, remembering an early date with Brian at a local Quahog nightclub where he had tried that and I’d thrown my drink in his face. “Yeah, buddy, we know all about that,” I reply.

“All too well,” Brian puts in, with a small smile in my direction.

“So they’re grinding, and she’s taking turns kissing them, and then she’s grabbing their crotches and stuff and then Troy grabs her chest and Tony grabs her crotch...” He breaks off, not making eye contact with us, and then I get it—he’s ashamed.

“Honey, please. Just tell us,” I find myself saying.

“Police suddenly stormed the dance floor, and everyone got out of the way,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly. “The girl pulled out a badge and told them that she had told them that she was underage but they hadn’t stopped! She claimed she was a junior officer of some kind—she was seventeen, Mom!” Felix cried, the tears forming again. “Her dad was the chief of police and was there when the whole thing went down, and he’s the one who cuffed Troy and Tony... I remember he came up to me and patted me on the shoulder; he said, ‘I know that can’t have been easy... You did real good, son’ before hauling them off...”

“What about Nathalia?” Brian asked, referring to the co-lead singer of the band; while Felix sang and played lead guitar, Nathalia was the other voice behind the band. “Where does she factor into all this?”

“Oh, her dad sent the family jet to pick her up this morning,” Felix replied.

“And he didn’t offer you a ride?!” I cried, outraged.

Felix sighed. “Yeah, he did... I originally didn’t accept, because I didn’t want Troy or Tony to think I’d abandoned them, or want the tour to be over...”

“But?” Brian asked.

Felix sighed. “We’re at Nathalia’s place in Newport,” he admitted, lowering his eyes. “She gave me some space to call you... I’m in their guest house,” he said. “Her older brother, Mitch, used to live in here,” he said, panning around the space with his phone. “As you can see, his design style was a little odd... Little too New York if you ask me...”

I sighed. “Get one of their servants or whatever to drive you to Spooner Street,” I said, a bit more impatiently than I would have liked. “Uh-uh, mister. You may be eighteen, but I’m still your mother, and you’re coming home right now.” As he tried to protest again, I made my voice firmer. “Felix Alexander Griffin, you get into a Kirkwood car or you get your butt into a taxi, which I will pay for, but you’re coming to Spooner Street right now!”

Felix sighed, and I knew I had won. “Okay, Mom. Nathalia can drive me...”

I nod. “That’s fine. Be here soon.” I quickly hung up, defeated, lying back upon the couch of the sunroom.

“He should be here in about an hour,” Brian said softly. “Try not to worry.”

I sighed. “You really don’t want to reassure me right now...”

“Why?” he asks. “Did I do something?”

I scoff. “That’s right. You don’t remember. Nobody remembers.”

“Peter thought that was the author who originally wrote _Cinderella_,” Brian chuckles, and his laugh sets my teeth on edge.

“You _really_ don’t want to annoy me right now...”

He sighs, becoming serious. “All right, I’ll bite. What did I do? Other than schedule an interview with Tom Tucker without your permission. Are you still upset about that? Because it was supposed to have been a surprise. I was going to tell you last night over dinner. I wanted it to be a surprise...”

I sigh, crossing my arms. “No. That’s not what I’m upset about...”

“What, then?”

“Stewie wiped your memory, the whole worlds’ memory, of last night, with the exception of mine, his, and Meera’s, and planted in conceivable explanations—I guess, alternate timelines of some sort, thus deleting the memories and the events permanently—for last night. He did it to make sure I wouldn’t stay in jail for the next twenty years...”

“Why would you go to jail?” Brian asks.

“Because I almost killed you,” I whisper. “I beat you to a pulp...”

Brian’s forehead creases. “Viv, why would you do that?!”

“Because Stewie insisted on an adventure and we went back to the French Revolution,” I hiss back. “You were seduced by a pair of gorgeous concubines, probably without stretch marks and saggy asses and I found you in bed with him... Well, Stewie and I did. And you kept apologizing and whatnot and I just...lost it.”

Brian sighs, taking my hand. “Okay.”

I turn and look at him. “Okay?!”

He nods. “Okay. I get it, really. I would’ve done the same thing, except to any guy who ever lays a hand on you—especially Quagmire. Promise me you won’t go running into his arms if anything ever happens to me. Lois did that once when Peter got amnesia—he forgave her pretty quickly, of course, and she even forgave him for the other women he wanted to be with during his loss of memory... But, please, just no Quagmire...”

I sigh. “I could never be with anyone like Quagmire. I don’t care how many STD’s tests that man gets. He’s dirty.”

Brian laughs at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right...”

“But...no Jillian,” I say softly. “If I suddenly...you know...”

He nods. “Of course not.”

We manage to make up and a little over forty-five minutes later, Felix arrives, much to the rest of the family’s shock. I then realize that Brian has told Jackie and Daphne, who had slept at a friend’s house the night before, to get to school with the friends. He also explained the family emergency to the elementary school, and they’ve given me a paid day off and the twins are permitted to remain with me. As we’re leaving, Brian and I watch as Dylan pulls Felix aside for a short conversation, and then Felix comes confidently up to us. Just before he can slip into the car, in between Sabrina and Heath, Brian waves Dylan off while I gently yank him out of the car.

“What was that about?” I ask him.

He grins. “I’ve got a plan.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Have you?”

He nods. “Yeah, it was always a backup plan. Dylan has a contact in the music department at Rhode Island University, and he played them one of my demo tapes. I have a spot this quarter, if I want it. I think I’m going to take it. I start in three weeks.”

“Felix!” I shout, pulling him into my arms; he is six-foot three, just a hair taller than Paul, and I know then how proud Paul and Sarah would be of their eldest, and my eldest, child. “I am so proud of you!”

“Well, that’s not all,” Felix replies. “I’ll only have classes Monday thru Wednesday, and Dylan says that Howard Shore pulled out of composing for the new _Parent Boppers_ movie, and since Danny Elfman can’t do it, Dylan’s asked the producers and director if me and Nathalia can write the music and have the featured duet on the soundtrack. He’s even going to ask if her and I can cameo in the film...”

“Felix!” I cry out again.

“Mom, it’s not definite yet, but still...”

“Possibilities,” I reply.

. . .

About a week later, on a Saturday afternoon, I go to meet Lois and Meera at Britches and Hose across town while Brian has taken Felix to buy a car, the girls are at a weekend slumber party, and the twins are with me, as Lois is bringing Stewie and Meera has brought Andromeda with her as well. Thankfully, they’ve put in a little children’s area within the store and that is where they sit—Sabrina reading _Harry Potter_; Heath and Stewie coloring pictures; and Andromeda building something with the building blocks. We all look on proudly for a moment before browsing.

“We call her our little architect,” Meera says indulgently.

Meera then turns and looks in the section marked HIGH SOCIETY WOMEN’S SUITS, while Lois looks in another aptly called CHURCH DELIGHTS, and I find myself moseying over to HIGH CLASS DRESSES. I find one that is dark blue in color, pattered with stylish cherries, and would come about an inch below the knee. Looking at the price tag, I see that it is marked down to forty dollars, and that it is half off, and decide, since it is in my size, to ask for a fitting room. Shutting the door behind me, I manage to slip the dress over my head, and manage to adjust it appropriately, and am thankful to all the mirrors around me, so as I can get a good look at every angle.

“Viv?” Meera calls.

“Where’d you go?” Lois echoes.

“Right here!” I throw up a hand like a student in grade school and wave it around so as they can see me. “In fitting room eight!” I open the door and their eyebrows raise. “What do you think? I think it could work for the T.V. interview with Tom Tucker...”

Meera sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe for Tucker, but...” She purses her lips. “Other than that, I don’t...” Then, her eyes brighten. “You know, Charles’ brother, Andy, is a producer for the Ellen DeGeneres show. He’s the one who always gets heckled by Ellen during various segments,” she says, chuckling. “How else do you think Andromeda got her nickname?” she asks me then, another giggle escaping her lips. “You know, a guest spot on Ellen’s show could really skyrocket this new book. I know Brian did Bill Maher a few years back, and that didn’t go so well...”

I give Meera a look. “We don’t really talk about that...”

“Yeah. Stewie went with him on the trip—lost almost half his body weight due to the stress Brian caused him... But he’s a changed man now,” Lois says quickly.

“Fuck you!” I hear Stewie growl from the daycare, a few feet away from us.

“You said a swear!” Heath cries. “Mommy, Stewie said—”

“Honey, it’s not nice to tattle,” I say, giving him a look, and he quickly drops his head and gets back to his coloring. “Brian and I love Ellen—we watch her and Jimmy Fallon at night after the kids are in bed on the master bedroom flat screen.”

“Kimmel, anyone?” Lois asks.

I laugh. “Yeah, we watch Kimmel, too. Our favorite segments are his Mean Tweets, and with Fallon, it’s the Hashtags.”

“And Ellen?” Meera wants to know.

“The scares, the classic jokes, or when she does the whole Shutterfly thing. It’s just so nice for people in need to get ten-thousand dollar checks...”

Meera grins, quickly whipping out her phone. “They’ve probably just finished up the noon production meeting,” she says, quickly typing in a number. Three rings later, her eyes light up and she grins. “Andy? Hey, Meera here.”

Lois and I quickly grab each other’s hands and look anxiously up at my twin sister taking the very important phone call.

“Yes, I’m afraid this call does have to do with nepotism,” she says, giggling.

“Who wants tickets to the show now?” I hear Andy ask.

“Nobody—well, _maybe _me and Charles and Andromeda, but I actually have something else for you,” she says, a bit gleefully. “You remember me mentioning my long-lost twin sister, Vivienne? The one who co-authored the memoir _For the Love of a Dog_ with her husband, Brian Griffin? Oh, you did? You read it? No. No way.” Meera quickly covers the bottom part of the phone with her hand. “Ellen read it and she loved it. She’s going to do another plug for it on today’s show now...” She quickly returns to the phone call. “Well, they’ve decided to write the sequel, to talk about their lives during these last six years. I was wondering if maybe they...” She stops, letting him talk for a moment. “Really? Oh, you’re amazing, Andy, really you are!” She then hands the phone over to me, and I take it.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Is this Vivienne Griffin?” asks a familiar voice.

“Yes,” I reply. “Is this...?”

“Hi, Vivienne, it’s Ellen DeGeneres,” she replies. “We’re live now. Are you somewhere near a T.V.?”

“T.V., T.V.!” I hiss at Lois and Meera, who set upon the poor cashier and immediately tell her to switch on the T.V. to Ellen’s channel. “I’m waving at you now,” I whisper, marveling at this turn of events.

“Thanks, that means a lot. I’m waving back. Can you see me?”

I laugh at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

“I heard you’re doing a sequel for your memoir, _For the Love of a Dog_,” Ellen says.

I nod. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“I never go anywhere without my copy,” Ellen says and, from her table between her two white leather chairs, she pulls out a hardback copy of our book—the hardcover version contained an afterword that Brian and I put out with the new third anniversary edition to showcase photos of the twins, Jackie and Daphne, and Felix on various family vacations we’d taken.

I felt my knees go weak. “Oh, my god...”

“Yeah. I love it. Portia and I even read it to our dogs and cats. Kid and Charlie are the ones who like it the most. Of course, you know who they are...”

“Yeah, Kid’s the dog that you got so you can tell all your fans that you and Portia have a kid, and Charlie is the cat that likes to watch T.V. with you after you get home every day. Once she didn’t come so you attempted to summon her with your handy-dandy intercom,” I say, laughing.

“Wow. You’ve sure got one heck of a memory!”

I laugh at that. “It’s a gift, really...”

“So, do y’all have a title in mind for the sequel?” she asks.

I look at Lois and Meera, who shrug. _Dammit, think_! I demand. I did come up with the last title, after all... “_Cats Fool and Dogs Rule_,” I reply, shrugging.

Ellen, as well as her whole audience, laughed. “Oh, my god, that’s amazing!” she cries. “I know that you’ll probably have interview requests pooling in all over the country, but I want you to know that I’m going to pull the couch out for you and Brian. Would you two please make an appearance on my show? I am your favorite talk-show host, right?”

“You’re _mine_,” I stress.

“Oh, I see,” Ellen says, laughter in her eyes as she tries her best to keep a straight face. “I take it Brian is more for the Jimmy boys?”

I laugh a little. “Yeah. But I always tell him we have to watch you first!”

Ellen grins. “I like that. Well, I’m going to let you go now. Oh, and since you were so awesome to give me this exclusive phone interview, you and Brian are coming for every single one of my Twelve Days of Giveaways!” she says, as the whole audience applauds politely, waiting for their turn. “Oh, and y’all have been so nice, that you’re all coming back for one of the Twelve Days,” she says, and then we’re greeted to a shot of her audience clamoring around, shouting, jumping up and down, as Ellen says goodbye to me, promising to give me the details asap.

. . .

I was shocked upon returning home—with the cherry dress in tow—to see a fire engine red, very sleek Honda Accord parked in the driveway, and quickly ascertained that this was the car Felix had chosen. A bit pricey, between twenty-seven and thirty-five K, I knew that Felix would be kept safe, and I did note the fine leather interior as Sabrina, Heath, and I went inside the house. I told them to go upstairs and finish their homework, and, after checking on Felix, who was writing some music is the basement studio—built for his sixteenth birthday present—I returned upstairs to the main floor and knocked on the door of the study/library that Brian and I shared.

“Come in, babe.”

I opened the door and grinned at him, and he pushed himself away from his desk. I giggled a bit at his tail wagging, and as he bounded up to me, he was very excited. “What?” I asked, curious as to his behavior.

“I saw Ellen—they posted the videos to YouTube already!” he said enthusiastically. “You got us a trip to Los Angeles for the Twelve Days of Giveaways?! You think one of the prizes will be Snausages?!”

I laughed. “Ha-ha, very funny,” I say, crossing to my cherry wood desk, across from his hazelnut one.

“I’m kidding...slightly.” He crosses the room and puts his paws onto the edge of my desk, and his expression becomes giddy. “So we’ve got a secure T.V. talk show appearance for our next book?”

I nod. “Yeah... Um... I’m so sorry about the title. I was really put on the spot and I didn’t want to say we didn’t have one. We can just say that was some crummy working title we came up with and we can come up with something else...”

Brian shakes his head. “Hell no, baby. You were right before, so you’re going to be right again, I know it.”

I blink. “Huh?” I ask.

He laughs a little. “_Cats Fool and Dogs Rule_?! Seriously, honey, that’s amazing! You just literally came up with that?”

“Drop of a hat,” I reply, shocked.

Brian nods, tail wagging all over again. “If we can manage to write three chapters a week, we can get this thing cranked out before Christmas...”

I shake my head. “Brian...”

“No, seriously, it can be done! Think of all the books we’d sell, just in time for the holiday rush! Think of it—we can get that new guitar that Felix wanted; that residency program for teens that Daphne wants for the summer; that first edition collection of Torts books that Jackie’s determined to read; tuition for that all-girls’ school that Sabrina wants to attend, and testing to see which grade she belongs in; a swimming pool and a trampoline for Heath to practice his dream of going to the Olympics; and that trip to Europe you wanted, plus that nanny for the kids...”

I lower my eyes. “Brian...”

“I know it’s a long-shot, but we can do it,” Brian says persuasively. “I’ll call the girls and tell them to be home before dinner. We’re going to Qu'Est-ce que pue Restaurant for dinner tonight to celebrate!” he declares, rushing back to his own desk and putting in various appointments into his date book before calling the girls. “Put on something nice,” he calls after me as I head downstairs to tell Felix, then upstairs to tell the twins and to get ready myself.

I then go to the bathroom, eager to wash off the day—I’d been shopping early that morning, then I’d taken Heath to the park and Sabrina to the book store in town, plus the trip to Britches and Hose had taken a lot out of me. Usually I wasn’t that tired, but today, something was off, and I had a headache. As I rummaged through the drawers to find my pain killers, I was shocked when I came upon the crumpled pregnancy test box that we’d bought two and a half years ago when we thought I’d gotten pregnant again. It turned out to be stress related, due to the new edition of the book coming out and the long hours I was putting in with taking care of the twins and with my work.

Biting my lip, I realized then that something was terribly wrong and, reaching into my pocket, I realized that I was almost three weeks later. I was almost four years away from being thirty, so I knew full well that it couldn’t be menopause, could it? Due to my estranged relationship with my mother, she had never really discussed such things with me, but I believed she didn’t go through it until her early fifties at best. Biting my lip, I decided, what the hell, it’d probably be for the best anyhow. I took one of the tests out of the box and read that the tests are good for two to three years, so hopefully this stick still worked.

I took down my black tailored pants and underwear—ones that Brian was particularly fond of—and positioned the stick properly between my legs. Biting my lip, I managed to get a good amount of urine onto it before placing it upon the bathroom counter next to the sink, washing my hands and flushing the toilet after pulling up my pants. Tapping the side of the counter, I see that the box instructions state that you should wait around five minutes or so until the results will be presented to you.

I find myself leaning over and massaging my temples. Did I want to be pregnant? God, no. I then looked up at myself in the mirror. _What are you saying_? _Of course you want to be pregnant again_... I shook my head. It just wasn’t the right time, what with tuition being figured out for Felix, plus the colleges the Jackie and Daphne would be attending in less than three years, and not to mention the all-girls’ school that Jackie wanted so desperately to go to, as well as the Olympic training that Heath so desperately wanted... Oh, god, what have I done?!

“Babe, you okay in there? You going to shower?”

_Shit_! I think to myself. Not to mention Brian, who just wanted to stop with the whole children thing immediately. He had Dylan, plus the three they’d adopted, and the twins... There was no way he’s be okay with it if they had a baby...

“Fine,” I managed to get out.

But the whole thing about having babies really just was completing the family, wasn’t it? I mean, I could totally have another baby—I wasn’t even thirty yet! When it came right down to it, of course I wanted another baby with Brian. Felix would be moving out eventually and Jackie and Daphne were keen on going to college out of state—well, Jackie was, and Daphne, who wanted to remain by my side at all times, would probably only go if Jackie persuaded her two-minutes-younger twin. Of course, if my little princess Sabrina had her way with the world, she’d be packing off for college as soon as the test said, “College bound? Go time!” And then there was Heath, who only wanted to make me and Brian happy, as long as he going to join the Olympics as well...

“Well, take a shower, babe! I made us reservations for six! I’ll be picking up the girls shortly, you know...”

Ah, the girls, the girls. A lawyer and a doctor. What a wonderful pair they made, and what a wonderful addition this possible child could bring to the family. If, I knew, I happened to be pregnant, I knew that Brian and I would make excellent sixth and seventh-time parents respectively. We had our priorities straightened out, didn’t we?

“No, problem, honey! Just answering a few work emails! Parent-teacher conferences are coming up in a few weeks, you know?”

“Take your time! It’s not even five yet!” Brian calls back. “All right. Just grabbing a sweater before I pick up the girls! I love you!” he calls, leaving the bedroom.

“Love you, too!” I called back. My phone vibrated—the alarm! I quickly picked up the test, and the negative sign stared back at me. Gripping the test in my fingers, I looked up at myself in the mirror, disappointment radiating upon my face. It was true—it was totally and completely true...

I _did_ want another baby...


	3. Lies & Alibies

I put my feelings of having a third biological child aside and threw myself into my teaching, writing the memoir, and the preparations for Halloween. Felix would be jamming at a pre-_Parent Boppers_ premiere party; Jackie and Daphne had been invited to a popular juniors’—one Helena Maxwell—Halloween party, parent-supervised, of course; and Sabrina and Heath were going with Lois and Stewie trick or treating in our neighborhood because, per my research, our neighborhood gave out better stuff. Felix had agreed to take the girls to their party, while Lois was coming to our neck of the woods with Stewie, and would be retrieving the twins from our place. Once the kids were out of the house, I decided to take this opportunity to debut the new lingerie I’d bought from a secret account that Brian couldn’t access—something I’d picked up from Lois as she’d done the same thing to Peter—but my husband had other ideas.

“We’re about halfway there now, Viv, so now it’s crunch time,” Brian said emphatically, all but ignoring the poses I was doing in front of him. “The publisher says we need to get the advanced copy to him no later than Thanksgiving so that it can be on store shelves by Christmas, in time for our _Ellen_ appearance...”

I perch on the edge of my desk, frustrated at his lack of attention towards me. “Come _on_, Brian! Can’t _Cats Fool and Dogs Drool_ wait?” I whine, pulling ever so slightly on his collar as he walked by my desk.

“No,” he says, walking over to his own desk and opening the correct file onto his computer and shaking his head. “If we don’t hurry, we won’t be able to write the follow-up in the time provided to us. Besides, after that last offer we got...”

“What last offer?” I ask, pulling on my pink Rhode Island College hoodie on top of my lingerie, resembling a high school girl caught by her parents while having sex with her jock boyfriend in her own bedroom. “Brian, what are you talking about?”

He sighs, massaging his temples. “I was going to tell you, our publisher has given us a choice after this sequel is published...”

“What kind of choice?” I ask.

“Well, we can do a series of children’s’ books—like _Arthur_ or _Frog and Toad_ or something like _Magic Tree House_ or _George and Martha_—or some erotic novels in the style of _Fifty Shades of Grey _or something. He says there’s a fine line between that and _Twilight_ which needs to be crossed, and he thinks we’re the ones to do it.”

“So, we either have to be the priest and the nun or the smut peddling couple?!” I cry out then, shaking my head. “Let’s say we were to do the erotic books. I’ll bet that the couple we create has more sex than we do,” I say, hopping onto the edge of my desk and crossing the room towards him; I’m really on fire now, and I want to know what his opinion on the matter really is as I lean over his desk. “How long has it been since we last spontaneously made love, Brian?! Five weeks?! Six?!”

“Viv, don’t start,” Brian says, sticking a pen into his mouth and chewing on the end of it. “I am attempting to think of where to start in our next book...”

“You mean my next book,” I grumble.

He lowers the pen, slowly. “What?”

“Nick Chavez sent back all the segments and chapters you wrote personally,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heating at my betrayal of our publisher who had successfully gotten us millions of dollars for our work. “He said that none of it felt authentic, as if you’d embellished several aspects of our lives. He felt that the language and tone was, I don’t know, false or something...” I slide off the desk, merely perching on the edge of it now. “Actually, I wrote each segment when your back was turned—when I was supposedly sick or when you took the kids to that _Parent Boppers_ party in South Attleboro for the weekend... I managed to crank out every word of that book. You’re so cynical and self-absorbed that you didn’t see the difference,” I mutter.

It only was the half-truth that I was telling Brian—I was just so mad! Nick had merely suggested that I pen specific scenes over again, which Brian saw the notes on and had agreed that the tone would be better coming from me. In truth, I was just so tired of Brian’s bullshit—we both knew for every chapter he wrote, I wrote four. For every hour he spent thinking of cover art, I was coming up with sale strategy. I just was so tired of him acting like this book was his new baby, so much so that I hadn’t even brought up the idea of having another one with him...

“I’m done with this...” I hop off the desk completely then and head out of the room, my bare feet quick on the wood floor. I head upstairs and quickly change into jeans and a T-shirt, intending to call my sister and ask if I can stay with her for a while. Just as I get downstairs after changing completely and having a duffel bag over my arm and a suitcase rolling behind me does Lois troop in with Stewie, Sabrina, and Heath, all holding very heavy trick or treating bags, looking quite pleased with themselves.

“Hey, Viv,” Lois says, then takes note of the suitcases, an understanding look on her face and she is quick to act. “Kids, remember Auntie Viv said she made caramel apples before we left? Well, there’s probably more in the kitchen...” She says, and Stewie and the twins haul ass to the kitchen. “What’s up?” she asks, nodding to the bags.

“I was about to call my sister,” I say quietly. “I just...” I sigh, shaking my head. “I really need some space right now...”

Lois nods, understanding. “Why don’t you stay with us for a couple weeks, Viv? The commute to school would be much easier than Downtown Providence, anyhow. The kids can even come and visit if you want. Remember, we got the attic renovated into two different bedrooms, so if you take one of the main guest rooms, Sabrina can sleep in the one next door, Heath can bunk with Stewie, the girls can share the bigger attic room, and Felix can have the other one if you like...”

I drop my bags and throw my arms around Lois. “You’re amazing.” I sigh. “It’s just been... I don’t know, really hard...”

She nods, pulling back and keeping a hand on my shoulder. “Motherhood and marriage and a career combined is not an easy feat,” she replies. “Come on. It’s a Friday night, so you can bring the twins with you if you like. You go and wait in your car; Stewie can keep Brian busy while I help them pack.” She holds up a hand when I try to protest. “It’s okay, Viv. I know how possessive Brian can be, and you really don’t need that right now. Lock all the doors until I come out with the twins, and you can follow me and Stewie back to Spooner Street if you like.” She gives me a hug before assisting me with my bags, putting my winter coat on me, along with a scarf and hat and gloves as she urges me out into the mid-thirty-degree weather.

I am quick to get my luggage in the trunk, and leave it open so as the twins will be able to put their stuff back there, along with room for the girls’ luggage. I whip out my phone and send a text to Felix, letting him know what’s happening and that if he swings by the house later, he is more than welcome to pack a bag and to come to Peter and Lois’s house. I look in my rear-view mirror and see the twins coming, along with Lois and Stewie, each holding a bag for the trunk. Once Lois puts her bag in the back, she motions for Stewie and the twins to do the same as she circles the car and comes up to my window, which I promptly roll down, to speak to me.

“We told Brian that you had some pressing schoolwork to do and that you’d be staying with us for a few days. Okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, fine. Least confrontation and all that.”

Lois nods. “Good. Come on, Stewie. You and Mommy have to lead the way home,” she says and walks back to collect Stewie as the twins get into the back and fasten themselves into their booster seats.

Sabrina is the first to speak, all the while Heath is preoccupied with his plastic pumpkin full of candy as we follow Lois along the dark road. “Mom, what’s going on?”

I heave a sigh, looking behind me in the rearview mirror; as much as I loved both my children, it was clear that there were certain things that Sabrina could understand that Heath simply couldn’t. “Heath, honey, put on those new headphones Mommy got you, all right?” I ask him with a smile.

“But...”

“More candy if you listen,” I say. It is the magic word, and Heath is soon jamming to one of his favorites, Bruno Mars. “Sabrina, sweetheart, it’s complicated, to say the least.” I grip the steering wheel as I navigate myself accordingly along the road, following Lois’s car. “Your father has been very preoccupied with the book lately...”

“Are you getting a divorce?”

I sucked in my breath—she was so young, yet so intelligent, and it frightened me. “I can’t answer that, sweetheart, really I can’t. All I know is that your father and I need the space right now.”

“Why are we going with you?”

I grit my teeth, wondering why my daughter would rather stay with her father than with me. “I just think it’s a better idea for you to stay with me, sweetheart. Besides, with Daddy so preoccupied with the book, who knows what would happen? Maybe Daddy would forget to give you dinner one night...”

“I like your cooking better than Aunt Lois’s cooking,” Sabrina says.

I smile, touched. “Well, maybe Aunt Lois and Mommy can come up with an arrangement where I cook now and again.”

“Uncle Peter told me he liked your cakes better,” my daughter puts in.

“Who doesn’t like cake?!” I say, in an over-dramatic tone, and we share a laugh. We spend the rest of the drive in silence, and I pull into the newly expanded driveway beside the Griffin family car. Stepping out, Lois goes to the kitchen door and gets Peter to come outside to help us with the bags. Although initially surprised, Lois had called Peter on the drive back and he was more than willing to have us stay for a while.

“Brian can be a real jerk sometimes,” Peter puts in as he puts my bags in my bedroom. “I’m real sorry he hurt your feelings, Viv.”

I smile up at him, touched at the declaration. “Well, it’ll be nice to spend time with my brother and sister for a change...”

“I thought Paul was dead,” Peter puts in a serious tone.

I am flummoxed. “I, uh...”

“Peter!” Lois says, walking into the room. “She meant _us_! God, you can be such an ass sometimes... Just go wait in the bedroom.”

Peter lowers his head, ashamed. “I always say the wrong thing,” he states in a sorry-for-himself tone of voice as he leaves my borrowed bedroom.

“Sorry about that, Viv,” Lois says in a consoling manner. “Peter can be so thoughtless sometimes. I don’t know where he gets it... It’s probably all that beer he drinks.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I thought he was quitting?” I ask.

Lois sighs. “Well, he tried the moderation thing for a while but he’s become so dependent on the stuff that he needs even more in his system now. I’m getting concerned...” She shakes her head. “But you probably have other things to worry about—like Brian.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. He can just be all about work. Work is good, when you think about it logistically—it gets the bills paid and you can afford dinners out and toys for the kids. But the long and the short of it is...we haven’t made love in quite some time.”

Lois raises her eyebrows. “When was the last time?”

“Six weeks, give or take,” I reply. “Yeah, I’m exhausted from teaching, but he’s asleep when I’m in the mood or he’s on his iPad writing another chapter. Or, that’s what I thought until I got it away from him...”

“Porn?” Lois asks.

I nod. “Disgusting porn,” I reply. “We got into a fight about it. I threw his iPad against the wall and cracked the screen—did some damage to the wall, too, we had to get a contractor out to the house. But I demanded to know why he was looking at all that grossness and I said some pretty stupid things...”

“Like?” Lois pressed.

“That the reason why we weren’t having sex was because he was too depraved to find me attractive anymore,” I reply.

“Viv, I’m sorry. But the fact is, you married a dog—an actual dog. Dogs are bound to be gross now and again. However, he should’ve made you and the kids the top priority, not the sequel selling...” Lois gets an intrigued look on her face then, almost as if she’s beginning to contemplate something. “What’s the name of your publisher?”

“The company or...?”

“No, the actual guy.”

“Oh. Sebastian Collins,” I reply.

“So, you’re saying that your publishing house is actually...?”

“Lois, I can’t confirm or deny that,” I tell her.

“Fine,” Lois says, pouting momentarily. “How old is this Sebastian?”

I shrug. “I don’t know... Late-thirties, I guess.”

“So, older than you?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Married?” Lois asks.

I shake my head. “Confirmed bachelor.”

Lois raises an eyebrow. “Cute?”

I find myself flushing. “I don’t know...”

“Well, who does he look like?”

I look away from her, embarrassed. “Ryan Gosling,” I reply.

Lois grins. “You don’t say,” she says. “You. Don’t. Say.”

I am just coming to terms with the fact that Sebastian is cute when Lois takes out her cell and begins keying something into Google. “Hey! What are you doing?” I demand.

Lois flashes me a smile and clicks the call icon on her cell, but I am still unsure as to what she is up to. “Hello, is this Sebastian Collins?” she asks.

“Lois!” I cry out.

Lois quickly covers my mouth. “Hi, there. This is Lois Griffin—I’m the sister-in-law of Brian and Vivienne Griffin. I’m also a close friend of Vivienne. How are you? No, Mr. Collins, although I’m flattered, I’m not looking for a date. No, as flattering as an invitation to your publishing company’s cocktail party is... Actually, I’m calling you about Vivienne—I understand you’re a close friend of hers. Well, I’m just calling to ask about you taking her to your cocktail party. Really?” Lois asks, locking her eyes to mine. “You would? Wonderful. I am aware that tomorrow night is Saturday. Eight o’clock? Okay. I’ll be sure that Vivienne wears something appropriate. Yes, good evening to you too, Mr. Collins,” she says as she hangs up the phone.

“Lois, what the hell?!” I demand.

“Think about it, Viv,” she says. “Tomorrow, you and I could get some retail therapy in while preparing for your big date.”

“_Not_ a date,” I reply, holding up my hand. “Still married to Brian...”

“But it doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed a little fun,” she says, getting to her feet. “I’ll call a sitter for the kids tomorrow. Come downstairs around eight tomorrow morning and I’ll have a nice breakfast waiting.”

I sigh. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

“Good,” Lois says, opening my door. “Goodnight,” she says to me, walking down the hall to her bedroom.

I quickly shut the door behind me to change into my night clothes. It is encroaching on nine p.m., so I decide to go into the en suite bathroom—another addition to all the bedrooms, and the attic—to take a shower. Quickly showering and changing, I put on my furred robe and make my way down the hall, my slippers silent upon the floor, and make my way into the room Sabrina will be using. “Honey?” I ask, opening the door.

“Hi, Mom,” Sabrina says. She is already changed for bed, her freshly washed hair bound in a clip upon her head. She is sitting dead center on her borrowed bed, her nose firmly inside one of the _Harry Potter_ books—the last one, my favorite.

“All right?” I ask her, sitting beside her.

Although she looks tired, she looks fine. “Yes, Mom,” she replies. Her eyes droop ever so slightly and she hands over the book. “Will you read to me?”

Touched, I nod, taking the book from her. “‘Green jets of light shot past them again. Harry had no idea which way was up, which down: His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second...’” My mind wandered while I seemed to read on automatic pilot. I thought about Brian, and wondered if he’d even noticed that I was gone. My mind then drifted to Sebastian Collins, and if he valued Brian’s supposed prowess more than my own, and would tell Brian that I’d accepted a date from him. Of course, it was just a work function, and it could be used solely for networking... “‘And then Voldemort vanished. Harry looked down and saw Hagrid spread-eagled on the ground below him. He pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting him, groped for the brake, but with an earsplitting, ground-trembling crash, he smashed into a muddy pond.’” I turned to Sabrina then who was fast asleep, her long eyelashes sweeping her cheeks. I marked the new place in her book, before setting it upon the bedside table. Switching off the lamp, I tucked her in carefully, I bent briefly to kiss her forehead, before slipping out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

. . .

I ventured down the hall to Stewie’s room, anticipating Heath to be there, but Stewie informed me that Heath wanted to sleep in the attic. Perplexed, I ventured upstairs, but found my son asleep as well. He had one of the blankets over his head, and had fallen asleep on top of the book he was reading, a Magic Treehouse book. Shaking my head, I switched off the flashlight he’d been gripping and gently moved the book away from him, and placed that upon a shelf. He moaned a little in his sleep as I gently turned him around to put his head upon the provided pillow, and kissed his cheek.

I carefully made my way downstairs from the attic and returned to Stewie’s room, who looked pleased that I was there. I sit down at one of the chairs at his desk, and look down at some of his homework. “How’s it coming?” I ask.

“Awful!” Stewie says.

My eyebrows knit together at that statement. “Do you not understand it?”

Stewie laughed at that. “I understand it plenty. It’s far too easy.” He shows me the book he’s reading, all about quantum physics, which looks to be a college textbook. “Where’d you get that?” I ask, wondering if Stewie had raided the Rhode Island College library.

“Amazon,” Stewie replied. “I always have the homework finished on the car ride before getting back here. I would have it done by lunchtime, but it’s difficult when your teacher doesn’t publish a calendar pertaining to homework.”

I smile at Stewie. “Rules and regulations still apply to you, young man, even though you’re an evil genius.”

“Not so evil,” Stewie mutters. “So, tell me what’s going on with Brian.”

I sigh. “Well, he’s focused entirely too much on the book, if you must know. It’s all he seems to care about, these days. I know that there’s that old-world viewpoint that men are putting their families first by concentrating completely on work but enough is enough. He and I haven’t made love in six weeks and he shot me down tonight when I tried seducing him! I took Lois’s advice...”

“Lois?!” Stewie demanded. “What did she tell you?!”

I pat Stewie’s head indulgently. “She called Sebastian Collins—Brian’s and my publisher—and got him to invite me to the company cocktail party tomorrow night.” It is then that my phone vibrates in my pocket; despite myself, my heart leaps because I think for a moment that it is Brian. However, when I unlock it, my heart sinks ever so slightly.

“What is it?” Stewie asks.

I shake my head, accessing my messages and reading the one sent to me, from Sebastian of all people. “Just Sebastian,” I reply, and read it. I realize then that he is giving me some information on the party the following night. It is to be a masquerade ball, and everyone will be in period costume. There will be an auction following it, and I find myself raising my eyebrows as I relay the information to Stewie.

“Lois doesn’t know anything about _those_,” Stewie says in a disparaging manner. “Don’t worry,” he says, getting out his brain scanner and walking out of the room. In a moment, he returns, a satisfied look upon his face. “There. All done.”

“What is it?” I ask. “What did you do?”

Stewie grins. “I’ve modified this scanner to impair people’s memories ever so slightly,” he explains. “Once set to the appropriate setting, one can merely scan the brain, take away memories, or force the person to act however they like. It’s quite ingenious, really.”

I nod. “I should say so. But what are you planning, Stewie?”

“I’ve simply impaired her memory,” Stewie says patiently. “I take it my mother suggested to you that she be the one to go shopping with you?”

I nod. “Well, yeah, but...”

Stewie shakes his head. “Absolutely not—trust me, I know how you need to dress.” He looks me up and down and nods. “Come with me, I have an idea.” He pulls me towards the wall, where his keypad is, and unlocks the wall. The time machine comes out, and Stewie pulls me inside.

“Stewie!” I cry out. “I’m in my robe and slippers...”

“Silly Vivienne,” Stewie admonishes gently. “Remember? I programmed history shows into my time machine’s memory. All will be well as soon as we arrive—rest assured, you shall be outfitted appropriately.”

He keys in the date of the middle of June, in the year 1599, and I immediately can deduce, once he’s put in England, that we will perhaps steal one of Queen Elizabeth the First’s gowns. Shaking, we arrive at our destination, the flash of white light momentarily blinding us as we arrive. I am in a gown of blue silk, while Stewie is dressed like an ennobled boy of that period. We step out from behind the tent where we teleported to, and I follow Stewie down the street. We are in a small peasant market, it seems, and everyone stares at us as we walk through it, and then along the main road. I see a brilliant building before us around ten minutes later, and my eyes widen as I read the sign.

“The Globe Theatre,” I whisper.

Stewie nods. “Precisely,” he replies, pulling me around the back and, finding the door unlocked, we step inside. “_Much Ado About Nothing_ is going to have its final performance this evening, before_ Henry V_ opens,” he whispers. He pulls me to the area in between the back entrance and the stage, where various trunks are placed behind it, and immediately drops my hand, advancing upon them then.

“Stewie?” I ask, stepping forward.

“Shush,” he orders, managing to find a plank of wood and breaking the lock of the first trunk, opening it. He immediately stands back. “Ugh!” he says, waving his hand this way and that in a manner most appalling. “I’ll have to get my special dry cleaning friend to help us out with all of this,” he mutters to himself. He digs through the trunk, this time holding his breath, and looks at one costume and the next.

Meanwhile, I take the plank of wood and bust the lock of a second trunk, opening it. I, too gasp and gag at the scent that emits from it, shaking my head—people of the period really did seem to have an issue with proper hygiene. I dip into the trunk, holding my breath as Stewie did, perusing the various gowns as Stewie peers over at me, clearly in a costume trunk for men.

“Find anything?” he wants to know.

I shrug. “All of them are quite matronly, if you ask me...”

Stewie sighs. “I haven’t been altogether truthful to you,” he admits then. He takes out his brain scanner then. “Starting with this.” He turns it onto himself, and scans himself, turning into a lovely woman of about sixteen.

“Stewie?!” I demand.

“Stewie?!” he demands, deliberately in a high voice. “Who is Stewie?! I am Lady Arabella Covington.” He shoots me a smile, his red hair long and down his back. He wears a green gown, like mine, and a green pendant hanging from his neck. He then walks out onto the stage, and says in a dainty voice, “William!”

Peering around the edge of the stage wall, I feel my jaw fall open as, from another room close to one of the staircases leading down to the standing area for the peasants, a tall man steps out. I know it instantly to be William Shakespeare, and he is beautiful. His eyes light up the moment he meets eyes with “Lady Arabella Covington”, immediately climbing onstage and grabbing her waist, lifting her high into the air and spinning her around. I am so shocked that I gasp aloud, and Shakespeare immediately lowers “Arabella”, positioning “her” behind him, and staring in my direction.

“Who is there?” he demands, his accent perfect. “Show yourself!”

I step out from my hiding place, and curtsy to him, my eyes downcast. In accordance with the times, my hair had gotten extended, and was down past my waist as well. “Master Shakespeare,” I say softly. “Do forgive me—my sister brought me with her.”

“Ah, yes. You’re Arabella’s elder sister,” William Shakespeare says, stepping forward in a way most gentlemanly. “You’re Lady Covington.”

I nod. “Yes, sir. Lady Elizabeth Covington.”

“Ah, another Elizabeth?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply. “Though I go by ‘Bess’, as I’m sure my sister told you, as she goes by ‘Beth’,” I tell him.

William Shakespeare closes the last of the distance between us and tilts my chin up, and our eyes meet. His eyes widen and his lips part as he stares down upon me, and I know then what it is to be like to be beguiled by an important person in history. He says nothing and neither do I, but “Arabella” immediately breaks it up.

“We must go, I’m afraid, William,” he says.

William Shakespeare turns and kisses “Arabella” before turning back to me. Taking me by the hand, he lifts it to his lips and kisses it. His eyes never leaving mine, he bids me farewell, before going back down below, presumably writing another play.

“Arabella” pulls me back to where the trunks are, and takes the scanner from her bodice. I watch then as she puts it to her forehead and presses the button. Immediately, “Arabella” disappears and leaves Stewie in “her” place. Shaking my head, he throws the return pad upon the theater ground and we climb onto it, returning to Stewie’s room.

“Sorry we had to go about it that way,” Stewie says softly. “Go into your room and throw something on.”

“Excuse me?” I ask him.

He smiles at me. “We’re going to Francois Manière’s costume shop,” he tells me. “It’s located in the Quahog Gay District. I’ve gotten a few pieces from him over the years. It’s on me, Viv, really.”

“Stewie, I couldn’t let you...”

He nods. “You can. Besides, we don’t want Brian catching on to your date with Sebastian tomorrow night, now would we?”

I shake my head. “No, I suppose not,” I reply.

“Good. Meet me outside in ten minutes.”

“How the hell is he even open?” I ask him. “It’s after nine-thirty!”

“He’s a twenty-four hour guy,” Stewie explains.

“Okay,” I say.

I leave his room and return to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me as I take off my robe and kick off my slippers beside my bed. I then take off my tank top and shorts and grab a pair of jeans, a camisole, and a simple button down shirt, its sleeves rolled up at my elbows. I slip on my black Converse sneakers and a sweater, before brushing my hair and putting it into a ponytail. I brush my teeth for good measure before slipping my phone into my pocket and leaving my room, slipping silently down the stairs and slowly creep outside the kitchen door.

“There you are,” Stewie says. “Come on.”

I unlock the doors and he lets himself into the backseat and straps himself into one of the booster seats in the back. I get into the front seat, buckling my seatbelt and checking the mirrors. I stick the key into the ignition and turn it slightly, putting the car from park and into reverse and stepping lightly upon the gas. I get out of the driveway and down the street and Stewie gives me the address for the costume shop, which I key into the GPS.

“Francois will love you,” he assures me.

We make our way across town in the darkness and soon enter the Quahog Gay District. I find the place, which is complete with its own parking lot, and park in a space. Stewie gets himself out of the back seat and we leave the car; I lock it automatically as we leave the parking lot and Stewie rushes forward to the shop. He opens the door on his own and immediately runs to the front desk.

“Francois!” he calls.

A tall man with large muscles comes out of the back, and his eyes light up at Stewie. “Hello, my little Stu-man!” he says, his voice effeminate. He looks up at me after he’s given Stewie a high-five, and smiles. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” I reply.

“Francois, _this_ is Vivienne,” Stewie says.

“Oh, _this_ is Vivienne?!” Francois says, grinning at me and sticking out a hand that is far tanner than mine. “Nice to finally meet you!”

“Same here,” I reply. “Good to meet you, Francois.”

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, looking from me, to Stewie, and back again.

“My publisher is having a cocktail party/masquerade ball at his place of work,” I tell him. “He and I are old friends, so I’ve agreed to go with him.”

“Wonderful!” Francois says, clapping his hands. “Come with me—we’ll get you measured and then we’ll see about a ball gown for you.” Taking my arm, he leads me to the back, and I am in awe of all the impeccable and gorgeous costumes he has to offer. “Tell me, darling, I assume he mentioned if there will be masks at the party?” he wants to know.

“There will be,” I confirm.

“Wonderful!” he says, and takes me to the masquerade ball section. After measuring me, we look over various styles and colors. Francois then selects a strapless, dark green gown with a sweeping tulle skirt that is encrusted with diamonds. He begs for me to try it on and I do, and when I step out of the dressing room, he already has its matching mask and an emerald necklace and ring for me to wear. The necklace has two rows of diamonds that will go around my neck, and, hanging from a larger diamond, the emerald pendant is then surrounded by diamonds as well. The mask is silver in color and has small emerald rhinestones all over it. I put these on next, and Francois lowers his hand, and Stewie places something into it, something I do not see, as I am so overwhelmed with how beautiful Francois’s creation truly is.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Francois,” I breathe.

“Not quite,” he informs me. He then puts an art deco tiara upon my head, and I gasp aloud then and immediately shake my head.

“Too formal...”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Stewie told me the name of your publisher. My sister, Maertge, works there as well—she’s one of their newer publishers. I have it on good authority that your tiara will not be out of place.”

I sigh. “Very well, then...”

“Here,” Francois says, handing over some dark green heels.

“Thanks,” I say, stepping into them and trying them out.

“And let Stewie do your makeup,” Francois tells me. “Nobody’s better than him.”

“Oh, you!” Stewie says. “Put it all my account, please, Francois.”

“No problem, Stewie,” Francois says as I slip into the dressing room to get back into my street clothes. “Hand those over to me, would you, Vivienne?” he asks. “I’ll put the dress in a garment bag and everything else in its own little bag for you.”

“Thank so much,” I say, peeking out as I hand over the dress. “Both of you—for everything, I mean it.”

. . .

At seven-thirty on the dot the following evening, Stewie is putting makeup onto me, and stops every now and again to wipe the tears from his eyes. He tells me that he’s never done better work, and he is so proud of himself. As I ready myself for the evening ahead, I finish just as I hear the doorbell ring. I walk downstairs just as Peter and Lois are letting Sebastian in, carefully gripping the railing so as not to kill myself in these heels.

Stewie steps forward then. “May I formally present Her Highness, Princess Vivienne Shaw, for your pleasure this evening?” Stewie asks.

“Going back to your maiden name?” Sebastian asks.

I shrug. “Anything can happen,” I reply. I say goodnight to my children, to Peter and Lois, and to Stewie before Lois hands over a green wrap for me to borrow. We venture out into the night, and I am pleased that Sebastian has one of the company limos waiting. “Such service,” I say, as he helps me into the car.

A string quartet is playing when we arrive, and I had no idea how short the cocktail party was actually going to be. I speak to some people, some who recognize me, and am congratulated on the success of the book. I smile and thank them, having a half a glass of Merlot, getting perfectly buzzed. Once the cocktail party is finished, however, we move into what is normally the largest conference room. Now, its tables and chairs have been cleared for the string quartet and the other musicians they’ve hired for the evening, and Sebastian pulls me to the dance floor, where several other couples are.

The music picks up and Sebastian holds tightly to me, almost as if he doesn’t want to share me with anyone. We dance every dance, going faster and faster as the music picks up the pace, and I suddenly grow tired after dancing for nearly half an hour. Sebastian gently pulls me outside for some air, and I welcome the cool air on my bare shoulders, upper back, and upper chest. I’d never danced that way before—not with anyone.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sebastian asked.

I nod. “Of course, it’s amazing.”

His eyebrows knit together, puzzled. “Why were you over at Peter and Lois’s house? Were you just getting ready there for convenience sake, or...?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Brian’s been ignoring me, Seb,” I reply.

“God, seriously?” Sebastian asked, his voice full of sympathy.

I nod. “Yeah. I mean... I’m only telling you this because you’re my friend, but I feel that sex is a necessity when it comes to marriage...”

“He’s not having sex with you?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s been almost two months. I don’t know what to do...” I sigh. “When Brian did those solo tours to promote the book, it was so kind of you to look after me like that the way you did. Getting takeout for me and the kids, taking us out on the weekends, and helping them with their homework. It was really nice of you. I especially loved that advice you gave Felix about publishing some things about his life on the road—totally made his day that other people would be excited in his life.”

“I did it for you,” he says softly, “and Brian.”

I smile. “I know—and I appreciate that. I know it meant a lot to me and Brian. But, because of our emotional distance, I’ve decided to put a physical one between us. He was so wrapped up in the book when I left but if he hadn’t been—and if I hadn’t been so desperate to get away from him—I would have told him to leave...”

“For the record, he’s crazy,” Sebastian says, and I find myself locking eyes with him. “If you were mine, I’d never let you go.”

I feel my cheeks flush in the coolness of the night. “That’s very flattering...”

“No, I mean it,” he says, his voice firm.

I immediately feel the urge to step away, but make no move to do so. “Thank you,” I reply, but immediately shake my head. “You have your whole life ahead of you, though Seb. I know that you’re a few years older than I am, but I’m married. Plus, I have five kids. Yeah, maybe my husband neglects me now and again, but he does love me.” Then, suddenly, it hits me: I just had to try a little harder. I wouldn’t just throw in the towel on so many years together, and I needed to get out of Providence and get back to Quahog and tell Brian how I really felt. I immediately turn away from Sebastian and make my way inside—my plan was to call an Uber and get back to the house.

I didn’t hear Sebastian’s footsteps behind me as I made some excuses to some executives I encountered inside the ballroom.

I didn’t sense Sebastian behind me as I bid farewell to some people who still hadn’t left the cocktail party.

I didn’t know that Sebastian lurked just a few yards away as I left the building.

As I stepped out onto the street, I was about to call an Uber went I felt something crushing my free hand. My gasp didn’t even leave my throat as he trapped my mouth and pulled me up against him. I made no sound as he hauled me around the back of the building and up an elevator, and I knew instinctively that we were going to his office. He hauled me up through the hallway, pulling me as I struggled to get away from him. He opened his office door and threw me inside, locking it as I lay beside one of the walls, fighting back tears as he entered. He then walked parallel to me and shut the shades of his top floor office and then turned, making a successful grab for me again, even though I’d tried to move away from him, though there was nowhere to go.

“Quiet,” he said then, using his strong arms to lift me up onto his black leather couch—the couch where Brian and I had sat when we had our first meeting with him. He covered my mouth with his hand again, using his other hand to hike up my skirts. He split through my pantyhose with his fingers, then he unzipped his trousers.

“No...” I managed to get out. “Seb, please, no...”

He chuckled darkly, positioning himself on top of me. “You’re _mine_,” he hissed in my ear, and then he entered me roughly, his member large, defiant, and painful.

I screamed against his hand as he went faster and faster, and as I struggled to get away from his hands, his legs, him_self_. I felt the tears course down my cheeks as he continued his pace, and felt every form of self-loathing in the book. After Seb finished, he looked quite pleased with himself as he got to his feet, unlocking his office door.

“Call your damn Uber and get the hell out,” he said.

Quickly, I managed to get to my feet and ran out of there like there was no tomorrow. I felt the mascara Stewie had so sweetly applied running down my cheeks, as I mentally prepared myself for the walk of shame as I got into the elevator. I attempted to straighten myself up as the doors dinged before they opened, but that was easier said than done. In a manner that can only be described as ‘broken’, I got out of the elevator, and made my way over to Thomas Webber, the owner of the company.

“Fire Sebastian,” I said immediately, and he turned to look at me.

“Vivienne! My god, what happened to you?” he asked. He was a fatherly type to all his clients, and Brian and I were no exception. “Who did this to you?”

“Sebastian Collins!” I reply, my voice shaking, more tears escaping my eyes.

Thomas turned to his secretary, always near him. “Helen, get security immediately and call the police.” As Helen scurried off, Thomas said, “Where’s Brian?”

I shake my head, proceeding to sob. “I don’t know—could you call him for me, please? I really need him.”

“Of course,” Thomas said, leading me into the staff lounge, which was deserted. He stayed by my side the entire time, and a couple of security officers watched the door until the police arrived. Thomas called Brian, who said he’d be along shortly.

Brian arrived before the police and Thomas stepped outside to give us some privacy. Before Brian could say anything, I began sobbing again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, and immediately Brian looked shocked, just as a couple of police officers walked in. “I came here with Sebastian tonight to get some P.R. for the book but...”

“But?” Brian asked.

I sobbed further. “Brian, Sebastian raped me!” I say, falling to my knees and throwing my arms around him. “He raped me, he raped me, he raped me...”

“Pending a physical exam, that checks out to me,” the first female officer says.

“Who are you?” I ask her.

She smiles. “I’m Lieutenant Olivia Benson,” she replies. “I’m on loan from Special Victim’s Unit in Manhattan. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. This is Captain Maggie Grayson—she’s with the Manhattan Homicide Unit.”

“Homicide?” Brian asks.

“But no one’s dead,” I say.

“Not true,” Captain Grayson says. “Sebastian Collins—your rapist—has been found shot in his top floor office.”

I slump against the couch I’d been sitting on. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, shaking my head. “I assume I’m a suspect?”

Lieutenant Benson sighs, obviously sympathizing with me. “I’m afraid so, under these circumstances. Of course, if it was before, during, or after the rape, you’d be found not guilty by means of self-defense.”

“But I didn’t do it!” I cry. “Look!” I hold up my hands and my dress. “The only blood you’ll find is between my legs! I’m _not _the killer,” I tell them.

Captain Grayson turns to Olivia. “Good enough for me,” she says.

“Me too,” Olivia says. “We’ll question you later,” she says, and leaves the room.


	4. Say It Ain’t So

I find myself in a daze as Brian manages to lead me out of there; I get into his Prius without question and we drive across town, back to our house. He tells me that he will sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, while I can have the master bedroom that night. We had just come from the emergency room, where I'd been subjected to a rape kit, and had been questioned at length by Lieutenant Benson and Captain Grayson. They seemed very familiar with each other's movements, and there was a physical similarity between them, leading me to believe that they were mother and daughter.

“I understand if you just want to shower and sleep,” Brian tells me quietly. “I'll probably work a little more before going to bed.”

“On the memoir?” I ask him, softly.

He sighs and shakes his head. “I actually haven't touched it since you left,” he tells me softly and gives me a sad smile. “I know it's only been a day, but I needed some space from it. It was consuming me alive—I needed to get out of my head for a while. So, I decided to focus on my solo project.”

“Which is?”

Brian drives in silence for a moment, and I wonder if it is because he is reluctant to tell me about his solo project. Then, he answers me, almost effortlessly. “Just a novel,” he says. “It is a far cry from what we've been writing—no fantasy about it or anything like that.”

“What is it?”

“It's about a couple of people who just can't ever seem to communicate right,” he replies in a sort of sad voice. “The husband is a workaholic and the wife just can't seem to get him to get with the program.”

I find myself smiling ever so slightly. “Do they have kids?”

“Of course,” he replies. We drive in silence for the next few moments before arriving in our neighborhood, turning into our driveway and parking. He gets out of the car and quickly goes to the other side—my side—and lets me out. He takes my hand and leads me inside, automatically locking the car behind him, and leads me through the front door. The girls were at an all-weekend sleepover, and Felix's gig had a long after party. With Lois looking after the twins across town, Brian and I would be all on our own.

I manage to get upstairs without Brian's help and we make our way into the master bedroom. As he turns to leave, I whisper, “Brian?”

He turns. “Yeah?”

“Will you wait for me to get out of the shower, please?” I ask him, finding that my voice was trembling slightly as I reached out and gripped onto the wall for support. “Please...”

He nods. “Sure, no problem.”

I give him a weak smile. “Thanks,” I reply.

I step into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I turn on the fan and the water methodically, knowing that the stream and the humming of the fan will drown out most of the noises I make. I undress and vow to burn this expensive dress, hoping that Stewie will understand as it lands in a heap upon the bathroom floor. I take off the matching panty set I'd been wearing, the heels, and throw the mask into the trash can. Stepping naked into the shower, I feel the pulsating hot water upon my aching skin, and finally permitted myself to lower my eyes and stare at myself, and shake my head.

I'd not pulled back the shower curtain, and my eyes met my reflection in the mirror as the steam enveloped me. Bruises covered my shoulders, in the shape of Sebastian's fingers, and didn't stop there. Several of them covered my breasts, while my nipples were swollen in pain at Sebastian pulling at them and biting them. Teeth marks covered my neck and breasts, and a feeling of dread enveloped me as I yanked the curtain back. My arms were sore, due to Sebastian holding them in one position, so as I wouldn't try to get away from him in his pursuit of me, and my joints were weak because of it. I proceeded to wash myself—my hair, my body, everywhere—due to the very thought of his roving, unwelcome hands upon me.

I felt myself shaking at the hot water cascaded over me, and covered my mouth, so as Brian wouldn't be able to hear me sob even if he tried. I finish my shower, stepping out of there and quickly drying myself before making a grab for my robe and putting it on around me. I stared at myself in the mirror, and crossed my fingers that none of my face would swell—we were still going to be on _Ellen_ in a few weeks, and I knew that there would be questions as to my physical appearance, and I didn't want to ask more than I had to.

Brian was still sitting on the bed as I exited the bathroom, and he smiled at me. “Ready to head to bed?” he asked.

I turned off the light in the bathroom, and was awash with something I'd not felt for him in so long—pure, unadulterated desire. I wanted him, there and then, and I wasn't going to take no for an answer—well, maybe, if he begged me to stop. I stepped up to him and sat beside him, running my fingers through his fur and smiling down at him, delight flowing through me when his tail began to thump upon the edge of the bed.

“What...? What are you doing, Vivienne?” he asked.

“I love it when you call me that,” I whisper to him, leaning down and kissing him.

Brian immediately pulled away from me. “Viv, don't. You went through a terrible ordeal tonight and I don't think you should...”

“You.” I put my finger on his lips. “Stop talking.”

“Vivienne, stop!” he said firmly, gripping onto my hands and holding me at bay. “What are you thinking right now?”

I shake my head. “I don't know,” I admit softly. “I just...” I feel my tears threatening to bubble to the surface. “I'm sorry—I just wanted you...”

My husband smiles tenderly, kissing my forehead. “I am flattered, Viv, really. But you really need to think about what happened tonight...”

“I thought about it,” I whisper. “I don't want to think about it anymore.”

“Okay, that's your choice...”

“All I want to think about right now is making love to my husband.”

“Vivienne, we can't make love...”

“Why can't we?” I demand then, feeling myself shaking all over again at the rejection. “I love you, you're my husband...”

“Vivienne, you were just raped!” Brian shouts. “That's an ugly word and I hate to use it, but, fact is, it's true!” He reaches out then and takes ahold of my shoulders. “Do you know how much I wanted to have been the one to kill Sebastian? Some bastard beat me to it, but if I can't protect you that way, then I sure as hell will protect you in any other way I can! If that means restraining myself from being with you sexually, then...”

I lower my robe, oblivious to my bruises. “I want you, Brian,” I say, my voice shaking. “I'm afraid that if we don't do it now, then I won't have the courage to...”

“What the fuck?!” he whispers, his eyes lowering to my shoulders, breasts, and every other place Sebastian got his hands on. “What did he do to you?!” he demands, gently reaching out and allowing his paws to go over every mark. “That sick son of a bitch...”

I shake my head. “I don't want to look back on tonight for weeks and think that he's the last person who's been in here,” I whisper, gently taking ahold of his paw and putting it between my legs. “Please, Brian. Please. I need you.”

Brian yanked his paw away from me then, his eyes filled with sadness then as he shook his head at me. “I can't, Viv,” he said quietly, his voice close to breaking as he looked at my bruises once again. Inching off the bed, he walked over to our dresser, and got me out a pair of underwear, a tank top, and shorts, before placing them neatly before me at the foot of the bed.

Tentatively, I reached forward, grabbing his paw. “Brian…” I whispered, my voice pleading as he raised his eyes to mine. “Please…”

Brian shook his head at me. “I can't,” he repeated, inching over to our bedroom door slowly, never turning his back on me. “I'm sorry, but I just can't…”

“Can't you at least hold me?” I whispered then, tears falling down my face as I got to my feet, and pulled on the nightwear he'd selected for me. “Please, Brain…”

Brian gritted his teeth then in a mixture of anger and pain as he stood there, a good two or three feet away from me, obviously fighting with himself. “I can't do it, Viv,” he said quietly as he shook his head. “I just can't…” He cut himself off then, turning to look away from me then as he left the bedroom entirely and headed downstairs.

. . .

Brian had agreed to do the drop-offs and pick-ups for the next few days, while I took some time off from work to really gather my thoughts. That first day, I only left the room once, to make up the unused guest room down the hallway, and made it clear, via text, that Brian could stay in there for the time being. I half-wanted to go onto Amazon and request a same-day delivery for a dog bed for that room, and would figure out what to do with the bed that already resided in there, but ultimately decided against it. I didn't want to appear too heartless, no matter how Brian's actions the night before had affected me.

On the second day, I left the house, wanting some fresh air. I got into my car immediately, not wanting to be limited to walking distance from the house. As I drove, I found myself gravitating automatically towards Spooner Street, knowing that I should probably stop by to pick up my things that I'd left behind. Pulling into the driveway, as Peter was at work and it was vacant, I got out of my car, pulling my sweater more closely around me as the autumn wind whistled in my ears. I walked across the patch of lawn, making my way up to the front door, and tentatively knocked on it.

“Oh, Vivienne,” Lois said upon opening it. She hesitated for a moment before pulling me into her arms, squeezing my shoulders for a moment before turning me lose. “Brian called us late last night. Are you okay?”

I sighed a little then, my shoulders deflating ever so slightly as she stood back to let me inside the house. I made my way over to the purple couch and perched upon the edge, waiting for Lois to join me. Once she did, I felt my fingers knotting up into themselves as I slowly turned to look up at her. “How much did he tell you?” I asked her quietly then, and, when she hesitated, I asked, “What did he tell you?”

Lois sighed, actively avoiding eye contact with me. “Viv…”

“No, Lois, please,” I said, my voice bordering on desperate as I reached out to her then, and took her hand in mine. “Please. I need to know what Brian said…”

Lois looked unsure then as she raised her eyes to mine. “He just said that something had happened,” she told me quietly. “I know it had to be bad… He was nearly crying on the phone when he called us up. But, no matter what Peter and I said to him, he wouldn't tell us what really happened…”

“Jesus,” I whispered, slowly releasing my grip on her hand.

“It was you, right?” she asked then, as I slowly looked up at her, her eyes filled with a decent amount of uncertainty. “It was you that had something happen? I mean, Brian didn't get into an accident or anything, did he?”

I shook my head at her. “No, no accidents from Brian,” I told her. “Just me.”

“What the hell do you mean, 'just you'?!” Lois demanded then, frustration leaking through the concern of her voice. “Vivienne, you're family. Why would you suddenly act as if you're unimportant somehow?”

I sighed then, willing for myself not to cry, not again. My gut told me then that, if I did, I may not be able to stop. “Lois, I was raped,” I whispered.

“Oh, my god, Viv,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she reached out and touched my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged then; the movement was sluggish, almost as if I was submerged deep under water while performing the action. “I'm not okay…”

“Do you know who it was?” she asked. “It wasn't just some random bastard who raped you in a dark coatroom, was it?!”

I shook my head. “No, no, I definitely knew the bastard, Lois…”

“Well, who the hell was it?!”

I raised my eyes back to hers then, and I saw the anger spiking from them then, which seemed to be off-the-charts. “It was Sebastian, Lois.”

Lois stared at me then, horrified. “You've got to be fucking kidding me, Viv.”

I shook my head at her. “Not kidding.”

“Jesus,” Lois whispered. “Was the son of a bitch arrested?!”

I raised my eyebrows then, knowing that Thomas must've kept the entire affair private if Lois hadn't heard anything yet. “Sebastian was murdered the night of, Lois.”

Lois's eyes widened. “Viv… Vivienne, you didn't…”

I scoffed then, shaking my head at her. “No, but I sure as hell wish I had.”

Lois nodded, acknowledging that. “Well, I don't blame you there…”

I bit my lip then, inching towards the edge of the couch. “Listen, I mainly came here because I needed to pick up my things…”

She smiled. “You think you're going to work things out with Brian?”

I shrugged, shaking my head as I slowly got to my feet. “Who the fuck knows?” I asked her, making my way towards the staircase. “He wouldn't fucking touch me afterwards…”

“Like, for sex?” she asked, looking confused.

I gripped the bannister then as I turned around to face her then. “Sex, cuddles, you name it, Lois. He wouldn't fucking touch me…”

She bit her lip. “Viv, he likely just did it to protect you,” she told me gently. “Your mind must've been everywhere that night and he did the right thing…”

“Don't tell me he did the right thing!” I shouted at her, feeling my entire body trembling as I remembered Sebastian's hands on me then, and wanting more than anything to obliterate the night entirely from my mind. “The point here is that I needed my husband—my fucking husband—and he let his goddamned feelings get in the way…”

Lois shook her head. “Can't you consider that Brian may have seen it as violating you all over again, Vivienne?”

I felt my nails drawing back then, and nearly slicing into the smooth skin of my palms as I considered this. “I think it had to do with the bruises and other shit he saw on my skin when I tried to get him to sleep with me…”

Lois's eyebrows went together then. “Bruises?”

I scoffed again. “Yeah. Seb really did a number on me…”

“A number on you?”

I shrugged, hating to talk about this. “He bit me and grabbed at me… It's a miracle that I'm even able to get out of the house, due to my physical pain and emotional turmoil, but here I fucking am…”

Lois looked disturbed. “And Brian saw this?”

I shrugged a second time. “Yeah. So what?”

“So what?!” Lois demanded. “Vivienne! He was likely also afraid that he would take one look at those bruises and inadvertently hurt you or something…”

I rolled my eyes. “He's done a good job of that already,” I muttered, turning away from her and walking up the stairs.

I made my way towards the room I'd been given, knowing that I'd also have to find a way to clear out the attic and other bedroom as quickly as possible, wanting to make as little trips to the car as possible. I stood in the hallway for a moment, hot tears escaping my eyes once again, and I quickly dashed them away. _Vulnerability would not be tolerated_, I mused as I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms and staring at the ceiling, just wanting to make the last several months explode completely...

“Back so soon?”

Looking to my right, I caught sight of Stewie standing in the doorway of his bedroom, looking up at me in an inquisitive manner. “You've been awfully quiet,” I said, making my way towards him and placing a hand upon his head. “Feeling all right?”

Stewie shrugged. “Can't complain.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Well, I finished installing the latest updates onto the time machine, so I managed to keep myself occupied while Lois was under the impression that I was taking a nap,” he replied with a little shrug.

I smiled down at him. “Well, that's really good to hear, Stewie.”

Stewie cocked his head to one side. “You seem down.”

“Really?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “I didn't notice…”

“Lois and the Fat Man were taking a late-night phone call the other night, and Brian hasn't been responding to my texts,” he replied. “Is everything okay? Or have you decided to return to the dog that clearly doesn't deserve you?”

I crossed my arms. “It's a lot more complicated than that, Stewie.”

Stewie reached up then, taking my hand and pulling me into his bedroom, and towards his little table in the corner, and motioning for me to sit across from him. He then moved to the other side of the piece of furniture, before plunking himself down and folding his hands on the tabletop. “Try me,” he replied at last.

I sighed. “It's really not that easy, Stewie…”

“Vivienne, you clearly recognized when we first met that I had a far superior intelligence than that of a normal infant. You even heard me talking. Do you remember?”

I smirked to myself then, recalling Donna bringing me into the Griffin home for the first time, Lois introducing me to a couch-sitting Stewie, and him responding with a rather passive-aggressive, “Fuck you.” “Yeah, Stewie,” I replied, lowering my eyes to my lap, where my fingers had become tangled up again. “Yeah, I remember…”

“So, did something happen with Brian?”

I sighed. “Yes and no.”

“Okay… Something at the party?”

I bit down hard on my lower lip then, practically feeling Sebastian's hands on my body then, each contact of his fingers bringing pain which broke the blood vessels, just beneath the surface, of my skin, marring its pearl-white color with angry, purple marks. How he pawed at me, as if I was an object, telling me that I was his, and that I, essentially, owed it to him, based on all he'd done for me and Brian.

“Payback,” I suddenly remembered him snarling through his teeth then, as his fingers wrapped possessively around my breasts, gripping them as tightly as he could. “Payback for that shitty dreck you and Brian and the so-called literary critics call writing. It's all bullshit, Vivienne—your writing. You and that mutt you married have absolutely no talent and, let's face it, you'd be nowhere, nothing, without me at your side.” His breath was hot on my neck, making my skin crawl as he continued his assault on me…

“Vivienne? Vivienne?”

“No, no, stop!” I screamed then, smacking his hand away as my eyes flashed open, and Stewie stared at me then, horrified.

“Who are you telling to stop, Vivienne?” he asked, very slowly, so as not to catch me off-guard again.

“Sebastian,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Stewie narrowed his eyes. “What the hell did he do to you?!”

I sighed, shrugging. “It doesn't matter. He's fucking dead anyway…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do the police know who did it?”

I shook my head at him. “No,” I whispered, my voice breaking from the sobs that threatened to escape from the back of my throat. “No, they don't know…”

Stewie nodded his head. “Okay, Vivienne. I think I understand what that son of a bitch did to you the other night. You don't need to tell me…”

I nodded then, my neck still a little stiff. “Thank you,” I whispered, unknowing if I'd ever be able to say it again.

He sighed then, tentatively reaching over and taking my hand, which I found myself gripping in an unexpected manner. “I'm always here for you, Vivienne. Always.”

I nodded across the table at him. “You too, Stewie,” I replied. “You, too.”

. . .

Brain had also agreed to take care of dinner for the family, as I was unable to eat for the next forty-eight hours as I waited in anticipation for the results of my rape kit to be finalized. I got the phone call on the third day, when Brian was out somewhere, and the kids were still in school for the day. When my cell phone rang, I crawled to the edge of the bed, swinging my legs off from the side of it, and picked it up carefully. When I saw the number for the hospital, I hastily swiped the green phone icon and brought it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

“Good afternoon, this is Nurse Katrina from Quahog General Hospital. Am I speaking to Vivienne Griffin?”

I pursed my lips then, not wanting a physical reminder to Brian at the moment, but nevertheless strove to remain professional. “Vivienne's fine,” I replied. “Yeah, it's me. How are you?”

“I'm quite well, Vivienne, thank you. I'm calling in results to your visit to us the other night, in regards to the...kit we had assembled for you.”

_ Gee _ , _guess they feel touchy about having the word _'_rape_' _attached to it_… “Yes, thank you very much. I'd appreciate the results now.”

“We've forwarded them to local law enforcement, Vivienne, but you tested positive for semen from the individual you named, and judging by the bruising the on-call nurse found that night, you were indeed...assaulted.”

I shut my eyes then, relieved that the results were now medically proven. “Well, thank you very much, Katrina,” I said, moving to wrap up the call.

“There is also one other thing, Vivienne,” Katrina said quickly before I managed to hang up entirely, and I did my best not to sigh in exasperation.

“Yeah, Katrina? What is it?”

“It seems you're eight to ten weeks pregnant, Vivienne,” she replied.

And it was then that I dropped my cell phone. I stared at it then, bile rising in my throat and, despite the notion that I knew that there was no way in hell that the baby could be Sebastian's, the thought that he essentially came into contact with my unborn child made me severely ill. I forced myself to my feet then, running into the bathroom like there was no tomorrow, and was sick into the toilet. Since I hadn't been eating, it was rancid bile that escaped my throat then, leaving it raw and in desperate need of water. Slowly, I got to my feet, flushing the toilet and bending over the sink, rinsing out my mouth and gulping down water as quickly as I could.

Hesitantly, I raised my eyes to the mirror, and nearly doubled-back at what I saw. They were hooded, almost as if I had deep purple bruises beneath them, and my eyes were red from my constant crying. My cheeks seemed more hollow, and I knew that if I was going to keep this baby, then I needed to get some food into me, and fast. However, as I inched back into the bedroom, there was only one thing on my mind.

I got to my knees then, picking up my phone, ending the call to the hospital, knowing that Nurse Katrina must've cut the call on her end moments ago. Hesitantly, I dialed a familiar number and listened to the rings. “That offer still good?” I asked, my voice still raw from the bile that had crept up into my windpipe.

“Always,” Stewie replied. “What did you have in mind?”

I sighed, knowing that I had to say it out loud, because I wanted it to be real, more than anything. “I want you to take me back in time to the night Sebastian assaulted me so that I can be the one to pull the trigger,” I replied.

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
